


The Last Synopsis

by na_shao



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookstores, Human AU, M/M, Mentions of mental illnesses and self-harm, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Very Slow Burn Don't Hate Me, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-20 05:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16549769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/na_shao
Summary: Loki leads a simple life navigating between his bookstore, his sister and the few friends he has in between.That is, until he is faced with the biggest challenge in his life: saving his bookstore, created by his mother, in the face of Odinson Books whose new shop opens right around the corner.What Loki doesn’t know is that he might hate Thor Odinson in real life, but he is falling in love with him on the Internet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love _You've Got Mail_ and couldn't not make a Thorki AU out of it. I've watched this film so many times and despite the fact that it's getting old (especially considering how the Internet is progressing), it's still a delight to come back to it.
> 
> This fic is such a gigantic piece of work for me who usually only writes one-shots, and I'm forever grateful that I took up this challenge because it brought me a lot!
> 
> Special thanks:
> 
> \- To my awesome artist [Bado](https://whatimevendoinhere.tumblr.com/) who did a wonderful job capturing Loki and his cat Leia (Star Wars nerd, anyone?) and who was a joy to work with!
> 
> \- To [my love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/profile) for betaing this, kicking my ass when I needed it the most, for cheering me up and helping me revision and edit this. You are the best wife and I love you so much, dearest ♥ thank you for writing with me and believing in me!
> 
> \- To the special Thorki pals from Discord whose friendships and amazing advice got me through many breakdowns!
> 
> \- To the mods at the Thorki Big Bang who did an incredible job handling this event. You're stellar!

 

_Art by Bado, banner by me_

* * *

  _From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Fri Oct 20, 2017 07:07 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear Asgardian,_

_Fenrir ate my bagel again this morning and left cheese on the cover of my favourite copy of_ The Crooked Planks _, can you believe it?_

Loki lets out a chuckle before sipping on his hot coffee, eyes carefully reading the black words on his laptop screen as he sweeps his dark locks up into a messy bun with an elastic band that had previously sat quietly around his right wrist.

_But I don’t mind, really. He’s a good dog. I would feel so much lonelier without him. I fell in love with him at the shelter and couldn’t even think of going home without him. Now, I can’t imagine a life without him in there, his dog hair everywhere and his wet nose in my face every single morning._

_Anyway, I am rambling. What have you been reading lately? I know we talk a lot about Bonnefoy but I’m sure you are onto something else, too._

He rubs a thumb across the smooth surface of his desk and looks out through his window; he catches the sight of red and orange leaves twirling in the air and smiles, thoughtful. The soft grey sky is mirrored by the grim grey of the asphalt underneath, both worlds so different and yet finding ties binding them to the other when rain starts to fall.

 _I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail, from you, and I can’t help loving your stupid username. Pirateangel, really?_ And Loki can’t fight the smile curling on his lips. _The silliest name for the most pleasant person I’ve met in a long time._

Again, he finds himself smiling.

He has grown very fond of this _pirateangel_ over the months, ever since he has registered online on this forum dedicated to literature and poetry.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Fri Oct 20, 2017 08:20 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_I’m sorry Fenrir ruined your copy of Bonnefoy. I know how much you love this edition in particular. My cat sometimes nibbles on mine and it’s infuriating, so I feel you. In the end, we can’t help but love them no matter what stupid things they do; they are ours forever. You seem to love Fenrir so much, and so does he. It’s heartwarming._

_As for reading, I have been onto re-reading_ The girl with the dragon tattoo. _What about you? I seem to recall your taste for Neil Gaiman._

Loki’s eyes fall onto his pale, long fingers that are held out in front of him and typing giddily around his keyboard. His nails are carefully painted black despite Hela and Sif laughing it off, telling him on a very regular basis that _Halloween only happens once a year, Loki, or maybe you’ve lost track of time._

_Don’t you love New York in the fall?_

He adds the sentence suddenly, and his thoughts wander to the streets of New York full of colourful scarves and chilly wind and dried leaves crackling under various different heels.

_It makes me want to buy school supplies and eat pumpkin pie at my mother’s table with a glass of hot apple cider._

Hearing the heavy pitter-patter of raindrops upon the glass of his bedroom window is enough to bring back bouts of nostalgia where his mother appears in clouds of blue smoke and gentle smiles, a slice of pie in a plate in one hand, a plaid she knitted in the other. Loki can even taste the memory of damp air and heavy clouds releasing torrents on the roof of their little house in Bath.

_My sister hates pumpkin pie so my mother always made two pies: one for us all, one for my dear sibling. It meant more for me, anyway, so it was a win-win._

Somewhere in Manhattan, the infamous _pirateangel_ lets out a laugh at that.

**_x x x_ **

 

Sliding his smartphone across the kitchen table surface, Thor checks for any new notification.

His heart misses a beat when his phone buzzes with the chime of a ringtone under his fingertips as a new message notification pops up on his screen, the little mail icon staring right back at his eager eyes.

“Is that your sweet _agent_of_asgard_ again?”

Thor startles at Jane’s voice, turning around like a kid being caught stealing from the cookie jar and eliciting a small laugh from her.

“Jane, _for the love of—_ !” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, brushes a hand through his short blond hair instead with a sigh. “Can you _stop_ sneaking on me like that? You’re going to give me a heart attack someday.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle of orange juice to pour herself a glass, refilling Thor’s discarded one in the process. Pale beams of light streak through gaps in the sky and fall upon her hands in a dance of sorts.

“So,” she resumes, “what did they tell you today? Did they send you another message filled with poetic wanderings about fall?”

Thor takes a quick breath and swallows hard. “How do you know about— _him_?”

“So it’s a _him_ , hmmm. Alright,” and she sits at the counter, grabs a slice of white bread and starts spreading butter on it. When Thor pleads her to tell him more about the matter at hand, she munches on it, contemplative. “You told me about your sweet correspondence yesterday evening.”

His mouth tightens into a tense line; he finds himself a bit too dumbstruck to formulate a proper response.

“ _Fuck_.”

So now here he is, sitting in his kitchen with his best friend, attempting to stop himself from blushing and spilling everything to her. It’s difficult, to be honest; he has always told Jane everything from the very beginning, from shouting that Fandral stole her Pokémon cards to grumbling in her ear that Matthew from sciences class was hoping to get a date with her in twelfth grade. They had tried dating back when they were in highschool before realising they were better as friends, and from this point on, their friendship only grew stronger

“Oh, come on, Thor,” Jane grumbles with breadcrumbs around her mouth, “it’s not like you can hide this shit from me.”

 _And fuck is she right. She always knows_ everything _._

Thor turns to give her a stern look, but is met with a smile and a laugh; Jane ends up smirking, lifting the corner of her lip in an attempt at dragging him out of his mood.

“How did you even know it was him? It could have been anyone and anything else. It’s just a fucking notification _sound_ ,” the blond man huffs.

Jane chuckles. “You have this dumb look on your face whenever you read one of his messages.”

Finally, Thor has been rendered speechless, and he surrenders, defeated by an argument he cannot counter. Jane’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, and he makes the wise decision to let it go.

**_x x x_ **

Thor’s phone vibrates on his desk a little before 11 a.m.

**_Jane (10:48 a.m)_ **

_Don’t forget we have to be ready at 7 tonight. Don’t work too late :*_

**_Thor (10:48 a.m)_ **

_Tonight??_

**_Thor (10:49 a.m)_ **

_Did I agree on something while we were drunk yesterday evening???_

**_Jane (10:49 a.m)_ **

_Thor, the fucking scientific gala? From my research laboratory?? :[_

**_Thor (10:50 a.m)_ **

_… shit_

He sighs as he reads Jane’s messages over again, not remembering anything from the night before. He can’t even pinpoint the moment he accepted to be her date for this gala he has no record of; he tends to hate these, which is just his luck as the heir of one of the biggest booksellers in the United States.

He feels genuinely sorry that he forgot, at least, and that somehow soothes his mind; nevertheless, his face slowly flushes at the idea of not being able to hold his fucking drink.

Pushing himself away from the desk in his office chair, Thor sighs heavily and types back.

**_Thor (11:02 a.m)_ **

_Do I have to go?_

**_Jane (11:02 a.m)_ **

_You promised to be my plus-one?_

**_Thor (11:03 a.m)_ **

_Why me? You have Darcy! What about Darcy??_

**_Jane (11:03 a.m)_ **

_:[_

_She’s working in London, you remember?_

**_Thor (11:03 a.m)_ **

_… no? :D_

**_Jane (11:04 a.m)_ **

_OOoooh_

**_Jane (11:04 a.m)_ **

_I see_

**_Thor (11:04 a.m)_ **

_What??_

**_Jane (11:06 a.m)_ **

_You don’t remember anything from yesterday apart from drinking and yelling your love for your fake digital boyfriend?_

**_Jane (11:06 a.m)_ **

_;) ;)_

**_Thor (11:10 a.m)_ **

_Jane_

**_Thor (11:10 a.m)_ **

_Jane I love you but fuck off_

**_Thor (11:10 a.m)_ **

_KINDLY_

He may adore Jane, but there are days where he actually wants to murder her.

Once the slight wave of annoyance has passed, he realizes, but without a retort at hand, that it really wouldn't be a good thing for her to go alone and that he had promised to be there with her, even though he was drunk beyond words.

 _Let me pick you at 7,_ he ends up texting, the tips of his thumbs pressing carefully on his virtual keyboard. _I promise to get out of work early and to be clean shaven._

Thor risks a glance across to the window, notices the rain has gone quiet; orange leaves veined with red glisten with new life on the pavement and he can’t stop smiling as he imagines pumpkin pies and glasses of hot apple cider.

**_x x x_ **

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Sat Oct 21, 2017 02:29 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_Do you sometimes feel disconnected from yourself? I always feel like I appear to be someone else in public before I go back to my shell in the warmth of home or anywhere I consider “private”._

_I somehow had promised my best friend to be her plus one for her scientific gala tonight. I don’t really like parties or events. I was pushed under the spotlight without exactly wanting to but what can I say? My father wanted me to carry our family’s legacy with our company. I wish my step-sister would have taken my place, at times, because I aspire to a quiet life and manageable stress._

_Anyway. I didn’t even remember agreeing to go and if I could, I would have avoided it, but I drunkenly promised her, so I went. Her girlfriend is working in London if you were wondering about that, which is why I replaced her. It sounds a little like Prince William taking on the Queen’s role and tasks when she is too tired to travel and needs replacement. Can you picture me being of royal blood?_

_I am rambling, forgive me. It’s late and with how tired I am, I get carried away. I guess I feel lonely, alone in this big house. Well, Fenrir is here, at least. Fenrir and big old me and all my books._  
_  
__You asked about what I am currently reading._ _I guess I've read_ Pride & Prejudice _about a hundred times, however, I can’t seem to stop coming back to it. Will Lizzie and Darcy end up together? I still feel dread while reading even though I know perfectly well that they will marry._

_I like writing you these messages. Sometimes I realize that they bear a lot of nonsense and maybe that you are rolling your eyes as you read about my days. I don’t mind, as long as you find something to smile about, I guess?_

_I miss you,_ Thor almost types, “I” hanging between the lines up until he goes back and deletes it. How can he miss someone whose name he doesn’t even know? How can he miss someone whose face he cannot even sketch?

“I miss you anyway,” his voice drawls, and he rubs a hand over his face.

He hadn’t even been aware he had spoken, and it somehow came out jagged and breathy.

 _You can’t miss someone you have never met, can you?_ he thinks to himself before he texts the same thing to Jane, to which she simply replies _you’re drunk, go to bed. It’s too late to be asking philosophical questions._

Maybe being alone with his thoughts this late in the night isn’t such a good thing indeed, though he can’t help himself. Can you miss someone you have never met? Someone you have never seen, have never heard, someone whose body you have never been close to?

The house is so quiet like this, with just Thor awake and Fenrir asleep at the end of the bed, Jane gone back at hers eventually. He’s not quite sure he likes it, if he is completely honest with himself. It lacks something; warmth, perhaps? Or—

_Well._

Thor knows exactly what is missing in his too big of a house; he does. But acknowledging the existence of such a feeling of loss and void is a little too much to bear at the moment, and he closes his laptop without even having sent his message, focusing on the warmth thinking about his friend brings.

He smiles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It starts slow.
> 
> There's MORE, I promise.
> 
> Find me at angryzilla.tumblr.com!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A faint blush powders over Loki's cheeks and up his nose and he crosses the line as quickly as possible to grab his London Fog; he reaches out for his drink at the same time as a tall blond man does, so handsome Loki barely remembers he is not supposed to be _gaping_ at strangers.
> 
> He finds himself looking into the bluest eyes he has ever seen.
> 
> “Sorry,” he says after their fingers have knocked together and he has retracted his hand to himself. “I didn’t pay attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy and humbled by the response to the first chapter, be it by your comments or reblogs/likes on tumblr! Thank you so much, all of you who read/commented/took an interest in this ♥

Loki is sickly pale, but it is nothing new.

He looks back at himself on the black screen of his phone and sighs as he waits for his drink to be made, his eyes glazing over the people in front of him; they aren’t half as pasty white as he is. God, his skin is so pale that it looks like he hasn’t stepped out of his flat in _weeks_.

Unlocking his screen, Loki resumes typing his reply to his mysterious writing pal, his hair falling softly from where it was previously tucked behind his ear.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Mon Oct 23, 2017 07:45 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I hate waiting at Starbucks but reading your messages makes it bearable. Do you go to Starbucks often? Do you drink coffee? I’m not a fan myself. I’d rather have tea. I usually order a London Fog or a Chai latte with oat milk._

_I’m rambling._

He stops, takes a deep breath. Typing on the screen makes him hyper-aware of the bone beneath the tip of his thumb, rough and weirdly-angled from an old injury as a kid. Hela had decided it would be a wonderful idea to climb trees while on vacation in Bath and Loki ended up falling flat on his arm, breaking it and his thumb in the process.

_Sorry for not replying yesterday. I wanted to, however, my sister had the marvellous idea of dragging me to the cinema so we could be up to date for the Golden Globes. I told her we had time regarding that matter but she wouldn’t hear about it unless I went with her… so I did and it wasn’t half bad, in the end._

_Still, I would rather have written to you instead. There is a calming, soothing side to it that I enjoy very much. I have even taken up_ Pride & Prejudice _for you again! If you don’t call this dedication, then I don’t know what it is—_

“Loki?”

The Starbucks employee snaps Loki out of his reverie so badly he startles, phone almost crashing down on the floor. A faint blush powders over his cheeks and up his nose and he crosses the line as quickly as possible to grab his London Fog; he reaches out for his drink at the same time as a tall blond man does, so handsome Loki barely remembers he is not supposed to be _gaping_ at strangers.

He finds himself looking into the bluest eyes he has ever seen.

“Sorry,” he says after their fingers have knocked together and he has retracted his hand to himself. “I didn’t pay attention.”

The embarrassment settles deep in his stomach; it usually is a foreign feeling, but Loki doesn’t face gorgeous men like this one every day. He wishes he could be counting the crooked tiles on the floor instead of staring because _he can’t stop staring_ and _it is so rude_ and he can’t believe himself—

“It’s alright,” Handsome Stranger replies with a chuckle in his voice, deep and raspy and full of warmth. “Here.”

He hands Loki his London Fog carefully while, slowly, the present situation is reaching Loki’s brain, and he can only blink himself back to what is happening. There is silence for a moment, nothing but the soft whisper of people ordering and getting their drinks around them; a waltz of sorts, easily choreographed and put together.

Handsome Stranger’s smile is a complicated thing, made out of particles and sparks Loki has trouble wrapping his head around; so much that he keeps staring for a while, observing, taking information in for a reason he cannot fathom.

“Are you offering me your drink?”

Loki blinks at Handsome Stranger dully, without understanding.

_Oh. Oh, fuck. How long has he been staring?_

“I’m sorry, I have been so rude,” Loki says, biting the inside of his cheek. His heart leaps into his throat and he cringes a little in his head as he wonders about how much more stupid he can happen to look to this man.

Handsome Stranger quirks his head towards the paper cup in his hand upon which “Loki” is written in bold, dark marker, and Loki follows his gaze, realising he should probably take his drink and stop bothering this poor man who has been so kind and patient already.

It's almost a surprise that his own fingers and hand cooperate when he reaches out for his cup; he is careful not to spill the hot beverage—knowing his luck, it could have been an easy messy situation to fall into—as he welcomes it from the other man’s grasp.

“Thank you,” and before Loki can add anything else, the man grins softly and is out the door in mere seconds, a fleeting spark lost in New York’s tumultuous morning.

**_x x x_ **

Sif is waiting for him with her own paper cup filled with coffee when Loki turns around the street and spots her long black hair colliding with her bright orange nails.

“Hi,” Loki says gently, hot tea in hand. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

This earns him a frown, as if he had said something really rude to his best friend of twenty years.

Sif looks up at the sky, still frowning. “It’s raining, Loki. I wouldn’t call that a ‘beautiful’ day, but sure, if you say so…”

“Rain can be pretty,” he answers quietly. He sips on his London Fog, rubs his upper lip once the warmth of it has disappeared in his throat. “A beautiful day doesn’t have to be about the weather, Sif.”

She nods sceptically, watches the sky still as Loki reaches absentmindedly for the key in his pocket to unlock the shop and crank the gate; he has the doorknob in hand when Sif stops her brain in its tracks, flipping around to face Loki once again.

“You’re definitely in love!”

 _In love? Sif, for fuck’s sake._ “Yeah, with my shop,” Loki answers, and he makes it sound like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Why would she say that out of the blue?

The door opens and he lets her in, flips the vintage “OPEN / CLOSE” sign around to “OPEN” and closes behind him.

Half of his brain is still focused on his recent exchanges with _pirateangel_ and the weird, yet lovely encounter with Handsome Stranger this morning just as Sif’s voice rises again in the silent shop, a warmly lit space filled with endless shelves full to the brim with books of all sorts, from children ones to rare Pléiade editions of Albert Camus.

“What’s going on with you?”

Loki glances at his phone, which reads nine o’clock; there is no new notification regarding a reply from his favourite pirate and he finds himself slightly disappointed. He’ll get over it; he can’t expect him to reply so quickly all the time, and the same thing can be said when it comes to Loki himself.

Hanging his coat, he pulls off his scarf as well, phone and London Fog still in hand. “Nothing,” he eventually answers while Sif is about to ask again with a clear look of annoyance, and his face scrunches a little, though he can’t keep his smile off his face. “Nothing’s going on with me. You know me, Sif: I’m the most uneventful person in the whole city.”

Sif sports that look with eyes as big as glassy pearls and Loki knows right there that he is _fucked_.

His pulse jumps in surprise because her voice breaks through the still silent store; it even stops his flurry of motion. “ _Loki_.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Sif?”

_“What is going on?”_

A beat.

Loki just brushes it away, plays with the hem of his cardigan. He fiddles with a loose thread there; Sif’s eyes zero in on it. “Can you start getting the Christmas stocks in order? We need to be prepared,” he says instead; tries a diversion, anything that can shake his best friend off his back.

She hands him over a file with the Christmas stocks as if she had been prepared for Loki to say that. “Already done. It's all ready to go," she says, gesturing towards the paperwork. She pauses and her eyes are worried behind her brown-rimmed glasses. “You know that I’m going to stand there until you tell me, so you’d better hurry. We don’t have all day.”

Loki scowls and looks at her in frustration and sheer annoyance, though it quickly dissolves because he definitely needs to tell someone that isn’t his cat.

Several seconds later and Loki finds himself unable to hold back the flow of words practically jumping out of his mouth and the grin that accompanies them.

“I think I met someone?” and his voice is unsure. “It’s not—Sif, _no_ ,” he groans, shakes his head at his best friend’s excited expression. “No, I didn’t get a Grindr account,” he corrects with a wince. Sif’s face falls for a moment, until Loki adds, “we met on a literature forum.”

“Isn’t that amazing? Another book-lover!” the dark-haired woman exclaims, grin broad and full. “What’s his name?”

Loki feels his cheeks redden. “It’s not like that.”

Sif frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t even know him, Sif! I don’t know his name or his face…I just—I don’t know.” Loki takes a sip of his drink, basks in the warmth that spreads slowly in his mouth and coats his tongue with melted sweetness. “We talk about books and things in our lives but…we never exchanged personal information regarding our names or our jobs. I’m not even sure I want to.”

There’s a sudden gust of wind outside and Sif lets her eyes go out of focus, not really looking at Loki but still trying to form a sentence. “Do you like him? Looks like you enjoy talking with this stranger a lot more than you let on.”

“I told you, I don’t know! I barely know him!” Jesus, it was a bad idea to tell Sif about it, no matter how much he loves his best friend. “Forget it,” Loki grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Loki, it could be anyone! Imagine, it could totally be…”

Just at that, the door to the shop opens with a soft music signalling a new customer.

“... _Clint_.”

Loki’s mouth quirks into a smile, but his eyes still bear shadows and frustration. “It’s definitely _not_ Clint.”

“Hi,” Loki says to him. A smile spreads on his lips, genuine this time, and Sif does the same.

For a moment, Clint is left without comment. He stares into his boss’ and colleague’s eyes until his lower lip curls up, and he waves at them both only to grin harder.

“Why are you smiling like a shark, boss?”

“Sif is being silly so you’re being my escape,” Loki explains, adjusting his shirt around himself.

“I’m not being silly!” Sif exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re happy, I’m just glad about it! And you made us cookies for today!”

Baking more than thrice a week under the pretence of _needing sugar around in case anyone fainted from having so many kids (and people) in the shop_ has always been Loki’s favourite excuse to bring pastries and sweets to work.

He sighs, but his grin remains.

“Actually, I was telling Loki that you could possibly be his Internet crush,” Sif smirks. Loki sputters out something as he watches how large Clint’s eyes grow by the second—

“ _An Internet crush_ , boss?”

“An Internet crush, brother? You didn’t tell me!” Hela’s voice shots up right behind Clint and Sif, which kind of gives Loki the final blow. Sif’s thunderous laugh echoes through the bookstore, and she smacks Loki’s back with all her might.

**_x x x_ **

“I gather that you’ve met someone, then?” his sister asks over dinner the very same day.

Loki takes a bite out of his chicken and sighs, mouth full, but it’s hard to hide his smile. He always smiles when talking about his _dear friend_. “I haven’t met _anyone_.”

A few minutes pass without any answer from Hela, and Loki casts an eye over his sister’s living-room. There are files and folders strewn all over the couch along with a pile of notebooks, some open, and Loki can catch her neat handwriting, even from afar—he has always been a little jealous of her skills on that side. His own handwriting looks… well. _Not great._

Hela has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from grinning too widely. “Really? So why are you blushing like a maiden, then?”

“Piss off, Hela,” Loki grunts, though the heat from annoyance doesn’t quite reach his entire face. Residual blushing keeps gathering around his cheeks, as well as happiness. “I’m not blushing.”

“He says, _as he blushes even more._ ”

Loki sighs once again, scratches at his cheeks as if he could make the godforsaken pink go away and leans back in his chair. He lets out a soft chuckle.

Staring at him expectantly though not without amusement, Hela doesn't miss the subtle line of tension running through her little brother’s hands, the way his feet start to curl under the table in anticipation and anxiety.

She licks her lips, patiently.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs, gentle.

"What?" Loki asks softly, looking up from where his gaze has settled and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

Hela sighs. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it. I just tend to worry, you’re my little brother after all.”

“It’s not…” Loki tries, but his voice trails off. He’s not sure what to say, what to share. He breathes in hard. “I don’t know. It’s such a weird situation. It also makes me happy? It’s just been a while since I've had anyone in my life.”

A moment passes, cars and people melting in a chorus on voices and sounds outside, and suddenly Loki’s throat is dry, full of unexpected emotion.

“Don’t be worried—”

He catches the way Hela’s spine stiffens, how her eyes grow defensive, almost hard.

“You can’t ask me that, Loki. I always get worried. We only have each other left, after all.”

He keeps quiet, watches her, sweeping his gaze back and forth before he glances to the side.

The moment her phone vibrates in the pocket of her jeans, Loki thanks all deities quietly because it distracts his sister enough that she drops the topic at hand. She goes on about how her girlfriend just informed her that another Odinson Books store would open soon near their own and how fucked up it is that they _dare_ push little independent booksellers out of business. Honestly, Loki is only half listening; all he can think about is the taste of warm Chai Latte and bright blond hair twirling in the October wind.

When he brings his hand up to sweep the gasoline bangs out of his eyes, he realises his fingers are trembling.

**_x x x_ **

Thor sighs and drums his fingers against the table, scowling out at the ongoing rain pounding against the pavement. The room smells of new paint and expensive wood and his coffee is a tasteless mud-flavoured drink which doesn’t help with the awful sleepless night he managed to pull through.

_A good Monday morning, all in all._

“What do you think, son?”

Thor glances to his right to find his father pointing at the files across the table from him.

“I don’t think it’s quite fair to open up a new store right next to them,” he says in a monotone voice. Odin raises an eyebrow. “Dad,” Thor mumbles in reply, rolling his eyes, “we have enough money as it is. I get that it is an ego trip for you but you aren’t making the most rational choices. Heimdall and I are both a little concerned about the neighbourhood response.”

There is a short silence as both his father and grandfather arch their eyebrows at him with hues of impatience.

“Being fair?” Bor, his grandfather, eventually asks with a dash of irritation. “That’s never been in our minds. This is a business, Thor, not a non-profit organisation to promote reading.”

Odin heaves an exaggerated sigh. “You have always been too soft, my son… we are facing sharks and we can’t allow ourselves cheap sentimentalism with money at stake.”

 _Yeah. You’ve always wanted Angela to take my place, I know that,_ Thor tells himself bitterly, glaring at the man in complete and total frustration. _You’re shit at hiding it, Dad._

“What do you care?” Thor grumbles as he lets his head fall back against the upper end of his chair. “As if you didn’t have enough money already? Why can’t we let that little shop go on?”

“Why do you keep insisting?”

Thor offers a bland smile, shoves his hands in his pockets and feels anger clawing at his throat, annoyance bleeding through his voice. “I don’t want to be another big brand that lives off small independent bookshops going under.”

Odin shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and takes a good look outside when he turns around in his chair. “I told you, father, that choosing Thor was a mistake.”

“That’s the kind of game you want to play?” Thor asks suddenly in a fit of rage, fists clenched tightly. “That’s what you want, Dad? You think I’m incapable of running a successful bookstore chain?”

Silence again. Odin is staring at him intently as if looking for something—but what sets Thor off is the fact that he sees it: that glint of happiness at having set his son on edge, and fuck, _fuck does he hate it._

“Alright,” the young Odinson spits, “watch me take your misconceptions apart, dad. I can’t wait to make you realise having me instead of Angela was the best choice you could have ever made for this company.”

His eyes dart sideways for a split second before he storms out of the room, harsh fluorescent lights engulfing him as he leaves the men in his life behind.

**_x x x_ **

It is a Tuesday in early November when the message drops off in Loki's inbox in bold letters.

_I think we should meet._

Panic creeps up Loki’s spine as he reads the words again and again until he can’t make them out from one another and everything is just a muddy, blurry mess of washed-out black.

“He wants to meet?” he asks himself out loud. It sounds even weirder when he does, even more unreal. “But _why?_ ”

Loki rests his head back against the upper half of his old couch, revelling in the tingling sensations spreading through his extremities as the blood flows in the most chaotic manner.

_Why would he want to meet me? Isn’t what we have now good enough already?_

When he leans in again, his hair falls around his face in disarray, only lifting a hand to wipe the curls away from his eyes as he tries reading the message one more time to make sure he didn’t imagine it.

He definitely didn’t.

 _He wants to meet,_ he texts Sif, whose reply comes within seconds.

**Sif (9:17 p.m.)**

_Who wants to meet? Sexy pirate?_

Loki rolls his eyes.

**Loki (9:17 p.m.)**

_I don’t even know if he’s sexy._

**Sif (9:18 p.m.)**

_He might be the real deal!_

**Loki (9:17 p.m.)**

_Sif, come on!_

**Sif (9:18 p.m.)**

_So what? He wants to meet you! That’s a good thing! He’s definitely trying to flirt :)_

**Loki (9:19 p.m)**

_Why did I think it was a good idea to text you, again?_

Loki gives his phone a reproachful look before he turns on his side, away from it and closer to his cat. Leia—and yes, he has to admit he is a little bit of a _Star Wars_ fan—gives him a gentle nudge and curls up against him with an appreciative purr.

Well. He might be happy about the idea of meeting this man, as well as terribly anxious.

For now, Loki buries his face in Leia's fur and breathes in all the cat hair he can.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean, ‘there’s a new bookstore opening around the corner?’” Loki exhales with ice curling around the words. “We’re the only bookstore around here.”
> 
> Hela pinches the bridge of her nose to keep her feet on the ground and patience running in her veins. “Brother, don’t be daft,” she starts, quiet and dreadfully calm, which Loki knows to be only a façade, “it means we have competition."  
>    
>  _Competition. Well, fuck this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a big thank you for your likes, comments and reblogs. They made my day and they keep doing so!
> 
> This chapter is smaller than the other ones but it's the last "tiny" one of the bunch. The others to come will dig deeper in the story.
> 
> Many thanks to my artist Bado for her wonderful depiction of Loki in this chapter! The art is simply beautiful <3
> 
> As always, special thanks to my Thorki pals and my wife who helped me carry this. <3

 

[Art by Bado](https://whatimevendoinhere.tumblr.com/); that's the scene at the end of this chapter ♥

* * *

 “What do you mean, ‘there’s a new bookstore opening around the corner?’” Loki exhales with ice curling around the words. “We’re the only bookstore around here.”

Hela pinches the bridge of her nose to keep her feet on the ground and patience running in her veins. “Brother, don’t be daft,” she starts, quiet and dreadfully calm, which Loki knows to be only a façade, “it means we have competition.”

_Competition. Well, fuck this._

“I didn’t mean to tell you this way, boss,” Clint says and frowns, worry washing over his eyebrows and whole face, “but I thought you should know. And I think Hela here has known for quite some time, too. Hell, I even thought you’d seen the ad in town?”

“ _Clint_ ,” Hela groans.

Loki’s frown intensifies. “What the hell is going on here?”

Hela licks her lips, breathes in and out to seemingly calm herself. “I told you as much but you weren’t listening,” and for Loki’s sake, she leaves the _as usual_ part out, for which he feels weirdly grateful. “Sigyn told me, remember?”

“How did she know?”

“She has eyes, actually,” Hela replies, sarcasm dripping everywhere. “It’s been everywhere, brother, do you ever look up from your phone and notice advertisements around you instead of writing to a stranger whose face you haven’t even seen after months of exchanging goofy messages about fucking Bonnefoy?”

A weird atmosphere settles at that; Clint clears his throat and goes back to their tiny kitchen in the back to make coffee, face blank, while Sif keeps looking between the Laufeyson siblings who apparently have started a staring contest—perhaps much more of _a war_ , actually.

“I’ve been worried about many other things that involve money,” Loki grunts, “you should know that as our accountant.”

“You’ve also been really busy flirting with Ghost Man over the Internet,” Hela snaps.

Loki grits his teeth. “Don’t talk about him—"

Sif looks over at Loki over her reading glasses. “I think that’s enough, both of you,” and she takes Loki’s hand in hers to take him outside for a breath of fresh November air.

The sky is a washed-off blue that day, clouds scattered in the horizon, and Loki wonders if it’s going to rain anytime soon. He likes the rain; likes the mood it sets the city in, likes that he can be pensive and left alone under the heavy weight of water as he walks home instead of taking the subway.

“You’re moping,” Sif says in a quiet voice as he takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee from Starbucks. “Sexy Pirate’s at it again?”

Loki shifts on his legs, looks elsewhere. “We haven’t been talking lately.”

Sif frowns behind her glasses. “How come? Didn’t he want to meet?”

At that, Loki stays silent; perhaps for too long. Maybe Sif has become too good at reading him, maybe she knows him too well, and she sees right through what has been left unsaid.

“You haven’t replied, have you?”

“Why would I want to meet him? What we have is perfectly fine,” Loki retorts, distant and cold. It’s his shield, his protection, what he has built for so many years to avoid being hurt. “I just want to talk about Bonnefoy and his stupid dog and my inability to listen to ABBA without dancing right on the spot.”

A quick smile passes upon Sif’s lips but vanishes just as fast. “You will end up meeting him and you know it.”

What if that is what Loki wants? _What if_ , he thinks. _What if I just want to be left alone, to have my routine morning Chai Latte and cuddles from Leia, take-over with Hela on Wednesdays and beers with Sif on Fridays? What’s wrong with that?_

Loki doesn’t say a word, simply stares at the street where they are standing and where dry leaves are crowding on the pavement.

“I need to focus on the shop. Money is so tight and now we have this big idiotic company coming our way… that certainly doesn’t help us.”

“Yeah,” Sif murmurs faintly, “this is going to be hard with them around the corner. We need to up our game or we can say goodbye to the shop.”

Anger and anxiety spark suddenly in the pit of Loki’s stomach, exploding all over and coating his tongue with a rotten feeling.

“I can’t let that happen,” and his hands are shaking, shaking so hard Sif is starting to notice and her eyes grow worried. “I can’t betray my mother and let that happen, Sif.”

**_x x x_ **

Sweat rolls down his cheeks when he wakes up abruptly from his nightmare.

Sweat.

But not only.

Loki feels tears soaking his cheeks, wet trails on his skin, and as he turns around in bed, he is still alone.

Extending his hand and fingers to where his mother’s body used to lie at times, warm and soft sheets against his skin, the void that has been eating at his guts blooms again in his stomach.

They are just plain cold sheets and blankets, now, flat and unpleasant as they curl around his ribcage, around the wound in his chest that continues to bleed, soaking his clothes through with sweat.

It’s the salt of cruelty that sticks, the tears that are a fissure, the voices of ghosts he has to pretend are music to his ears.

 _Leave me the fuck alone,_ Loki repeats in his head, still crying. _Leave me the fuck alone!_

It’s that hue that overtakes everything, from memories to body connections and reactions.

Disarticulate. Uncovered.

Dead.

He chokes back on a sob as Leia climbs in bed with him and starts licking his cheek before he buries his head in his hands, breathing out a silent whimper.

“I’m exhausted,” he ends up crying in her fur, fingers curling around the soft hair of her back. “What am I supposed to do? The shop is going down, my love life is a disaster and mum is still very dead.” He stops, blinks back tears while Leia keeps licking his cheek. “I still have Hela. And you. And Sif. But—Leia. It’s so hard. Everything is so hard.”

Right at that moment, his phone pings.

Loki grabs blindly for his phone on his nightstand. Watching his screen come to life threatens to make his heart burst from his chest.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Wed Nov 8, 2017 3:28_

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I know it’s late and I’m so sorry for the hour. You will probably be asleep by the time you get this._

_I’ve been worried._

_I didn’t mean to rush things by asking if we could meet. I thought it would be a good idea as our discussions are probably the best part of my day and there’s no one quite like you around me. No one is ready to hear about Bonnefoy or my rambling for hours regarding my dog. No one but you, really._

_And I miss you, friend. I miss you so much and I am so sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable by asking we meet. I completely understand if you are not ready. We can just resume talking!_

_Honestly, I would love that. I miss you so much. I feel pretty lonely and our daily discussions are something I can’t get enough of._

_Also, I hope you are okay. Sorry if you didn’t reply because of something else._

_I guess I’ll see myself to bed._

There’s a spark of hope blooming through Loki’s bones, tears still clinging to his eyelashes and making them appear to weigh a lot more than they should, though the feeling of softness lingers.

On his lap, Leia purrs quietly.

God does he wish he were a cat at times so he could lead a peaceful, stressless life with no bullshit and no money problems.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Wed Nov 8, 2017 3:49_

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I need to apologise for not replying to your last message._

_I guess you saw right through me: I think I’m not ready to meet yet. I have so many things on my mind these days and I am so anxious to see you in real life, to be completely honest with you, that I don’t think it’s a good idea to go ahead with seeing each other yet, though it doesn’t mean I don’t want to._

_I want to._

_Just not now, my friend. I hope you understand._

_I am sorry I didn’t reply. I have been swarmed in work and life worries and everything seems to be spiralling down._

_Be assured, though, that I have missed our daily conversations and that your message really came on point today. I was having a sleepless night…_

“... More like nightmares and residual anxiety,” Loki mumbles to himself with his heart still beating too fast to his taste before he resumes typing,

_… and I felt relief and happiness at the idea of hearing more about you._

_Can we keep talking about Bonnefoy and your dog and ABBA? I’d like that a lot. I will go crazy otherwise._

_Hm. Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have written that, but hey. It’s true. Life has been pretty shitty lately and I feel bad right now. At least, I get to have a new message from you, which is a small compensation in exchange of my bad night._

_I hope you are asleep by now, or that you are at least trying. Don’t be like me: don’t stay up too late._

Taking the step to write to his online friend again has somehow lifted a weight from Loki’s shoulders. He realises his heart is still beating hard and fast, but not because of anxiety-induced nightmares: he feels excited for the first time in weeks.

Maybe he really is falling for this _pirateangel_ dude; maybe he is—alright, he most definitely _is_.

It doesn’t feel bad, Loki decides. It feels normal and gentle and he doesn’t want to throw up at the prospect of being close to someone else again (or maybe _a little,_ who is he fooling?). Getting to experience this quiet feeling of happiness at knowing someone and wanting them around is so good because it hasn’t touched him in years, hasn’t made him feel worthy or interesting for god knows how many days.

 _I told him I wasn’t ready to meet yet but I think I might be soon,_ he texts Sif as four o’clock rolls and replaces three fifty nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, you can scream at me in the comments or say hi on tumblr! I love reviews and it helps me know how the fic is doing and what to expect for my following projects. Don't hesitate! ; w ;
> 
> angryzilla.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sign is completed on a cold day of November and it says, in bright, bold letters:
> 
> _COMING SOON, JUST AROUND THE CORNER: ODINSON BOOKS!_
> 
> Loki glares daggers at it while Sif mumbles, “what a fucking nightmare” under her breath.
> 
> “They won’t get us,” Hela grumbles. “They’re ignorant and impersonal.”
> 
> With a pointed clearing of his throat, Clint looks over at them. “But they have _discounts!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an extremely long chapter, oh lord. 14k. 
> 
> BE READY. SO MUCH HAPPENS.
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for all your support, reblogs, likes and comments. They mean the world to me!

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Thurs Nov 9, 2017 07:57 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I’m so glad to be reading your message! You have no idea how happy it made me feel to realise one of the emails in my inbox was a notification that you wrote again._

_I apologise for the uncomfortable position I put you in by asking we meet. I am not angry nor mad; I am honestly just relieved you replied. I was getting worried you would never send me anything ever again, to be completely honest with you._

_I know we have a “no personal information sharing” policy but I can’t help wanting to hear about your worries because I want to be here for you. I want to listen and give you a hand and help in any way I can. After all, you don’t meet Bonnefoy aficionados every day, and you have been the best penpal I have ever had, dearest friend._

“He’s calling you _dearest friend!_ He is _so_ officially smitten and into you,” Sif grins from behind Loki, chin resting upon his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Loki groans as a blush creeps up his cheeks and something hot curls in his belly, stroking silently where his heart beats heavily against his ribcage. “I’m trying to read.”

_We can just keep talking about Pride and Prejudice, too, if you’d rather do that. I would be absolutely fine with it. And Bonnefoy. And everything else that doesn’t involve real life if it’s too painful to bear._

“Look how cute he is,” Clint coos from Loki’s other shoulder, eyes crinkling as he sips his coffee-flavored sugar. “He is so into you, boss, this is both terrifying and delightful to witness.”

“Don’t you two have work to do?!” Loki interjects loudly with all the annoyance and frustration he can muster—which isn’t that hard, honestly, with the current situation at hand. “I have enough gossip material about Nat and you, Clint, and _you_ , Sif,” Loki says as he turns to his best friend, grins with a side twitch that doesn’t bode well for anyone, “you’d better not get me started on your habits.”

At the far end of the shop, Hela starts laughing, shelves full of books smiling back at her while Sif and Clint hurry behind the counter with a flush so high upon their cheeks Loki thinks they will faint at some point in the next minutes.

**_x x x_ **

Heimdall chews slowly on his bagel. “We’re not late. Just a bit of fumbling around with electricity and it will be all done.”

Thor sighs and grabs his bottle of water, the air warm in his office but with a distinct touch of soon-to-be-winter, all spices and red hues and delicate swirls of gold. He takes a moment to breathe in deeply through his nose, to open his mouth and taste the air that smells of pine and candy cane.

_Is that how you smell, dear friend? Like warmth and soft kisses exchanged near the fireplace on Christmas day? Like laughter echoing in a house where loneliness has shrunk and barely shows itself?_

Heimdall’s loud voice pulls Thor out of his thoughts.

“I can assure you we will be ready on time,” he reassures him.

“Let’s hope so,” Thor replies quietly, still half-lost in the contemplation of whether his stranger smells like fresh ground coffee beans or roasted chestnuts and mulled wine. “We don’t want to be behind on our schedule, especially when it comes to opening.”

Heimdall doesn't say anything and he doesn't look away from him. The raindrops are a steady thrum of noise in the background.

“You want to make your father proud, is that it? You’ve been extremely fidgety and quiet all morning.”

He's looking at him now, focused. _Staring_. Thor almost forgot how Heimdall could stare, eyes harsh in all their golden light.

Thor shakes his head, features on his face growing hard. He feels the headache that's been stalking at the edge of his vision creeping closer.

“It’s not a question of making him proud,” he almost spits, and Heimdall raises an eyebrow; interrogates his friend with nothing but a look. “I want to prove to him that I can handle this. While I don’t like making tiny bookstores go under, I won’t let that _Shop Around The Corner_ get in my way. I guess it’s the only way to prove him I can do it.”

“You have proven yourself already,” Heimdall weighs in, calm and contemplating his friend. “Your father knows. He has seen what you can do.”

“But it’s never enough,” Thor sighs as pain settles in his chest, sizzling and crackling, so similar to lightning. “I can do more; I can be more.”

 _“How much more deception can you take until you realise it’s not worth anything?”_ Heimdall tells him all the time, and Thor’s irises wander around the room, bagel long-forgotten in front of him. “ _How much longer will you break your back for a father who never thought of anyone but himself?”_

Thor tilts his head towards him as he shifts in his seat, and smiles a little through his exhaustion, remembering what Heimdall did for him and how he is forever going to have his back.

It’s enough to settle his fear for now.

“I’ll help,” Heimdall simply states, and Thor’s grateful stare is enough reassurance that he is doing the right thing and not just playing Odin’s twisted game.

**_x x x_ **

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Frid Nov 10, 2017 07:01 p.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_I just saw a butterfly in the subway on my way home, just like the children’s book._

_Did you send me a sign because I’ve been worried lately? I like to think you did._

_Is that weird?_

**_x x x_ **

“You overthink everything and it’s killing you slowly, you know that?”

Loki looks up from his laptop to face Sigyn, eyebrows arched, blood rushing in his ears; in the background, he notices that the sun has sunken lower into the horizon.

“I’m sorry,” he says slowly, wetting his lips, “what?”

She takes a bite of her food — lemon chicken Hela cooked earlier that night — and sighs, fork in hand, expression changed from frustrated sadness to angry melancholia. “You overthink everything and—”

“ _I heard you_ ,” Loki cuts through, harsher than he intended and that makes him wince. “But I am asking what you mean by that.”

She stares at him for a moment, and then laughs bitterly but not unkindly, eyes lost on Loki’s tense face. Sigyn had always like that, mysterious in her own ways, never mean for the purpose of it but honest and looking to make the best out of weird, sometimes painful situations.

“You can be very thick for a genius,” and she takes a sip of wine, lets it sit on her tongue.

Chardonnay. _Always get Chardonnay for lemon chicken,_ Sigyn always tells him, _it’s the best pairing you can ever get with this meal. Highly acidic, vibrant wine, just what you need to dance with the meat._ “Very much so.”

Rubbing his eyes irritably, Loki inhales and exhales heavily before pushing his laptop further on the table, sucking in a shaky breath. “Stop being cryptic, Sigyn, come on. What do you mean? And I’m not a fucking genius,” he mutters.

Suddenly, his words stay in the air, electricity enveloping them; they are almost tantalizing, tempting his sister’s partner near the cliff. _Try me, try me,_ it repeats in his head, poison and claws out. _Try me._

Sigyn stares at him and then glances down at the plate before her, half-finished, before shaking her head.

“I get so worried about you,” she eventually admits, eyes closed but voice clear and steady. It’s not what Loki had expected despite knowing her for so many years and he can hear a slightly nervous hint in there.

“That bookstore chain, it’s full of ignorant salespeople,” Loki says. “It’s impersonal. It’s got nothing on us and yet? Yet, I can’t stop thinking about it, about how they’re going to crush us. It’s not something I can let happen and you know why.”

Sigyn flinches at Loki’s tone, at how cruel and sad and raw he sounds.

Loki shifts uncomfortably and avoids her eyes; grinds his teeth together and scratches his nails against the grain of the wood of the dining table. He needs to stop spilling his guts and needs to suck it up for once. He tries to focus on something else instead, on Sigyn’s hair for instance. Forces himself to remember how she tries to tame it down, how it resists, fine soft strands sticking straight back up.

It’s no use trying to run away from it—so he sits straighter up, pushes all these thoughts that threaten to eat him up alive.

She presses her free hand into the side of Loki’s neck, stares right into his eyes. “Loki. Breathe.”

Pressing down on his lungs is the agonizing fear of losing what he has fought for so long: his mother’s legacy, a memory he can’t let go of. He is not ready, will never be ready for it— _isn’t grief supposed to die at some point?_

Footsteps can be heard in the doorway and Loki sighs as he notices that Hela is home.

”Grief doesn’t go away,” her voice cuts through his thoughts, and Loki realizes he’s crying in Sigyn’s arms. His hand is curling in her soft hair absentmindedly, red curls thin as veins. ”Life grows back around it. Sometimes it comes back. It’s been hard for us lately, brother.”

She’s crying, too, and she’s got such raw vulnerability in her eyes, something Loki has rarely ever seen his sister display in all these years shared together. Last time was perhaps the day she fought for him to take over the shop.

_”Mum wanted you to keep going with the shop, not me,” she tells him, frustrated and on the verge of tears. “You have to. Please, Loki. Please.”_

It’s been a deep-rooted ache for them both for so long and they’ve never been able to properly talk about it. It's time, he guesses. It's time.

Loki thanks Sigyn silently for this as he can’t find anything adequate enough to express the swelling in his chest as they’re pressed together, Sigyn rubbing slow circles on his back.

Calming, soothing. Reassuring.

_This._

A family of his own again.

**_x x x_ **

The sign is completed on a cold day of November and it says, in bright, bold letters:

_COMING SOON, JUST AROUND THE CORNER: ODINSON BOOKS!_

Loki glares daggers at it while Sif mumbles, “what a fucking nightmare” under her breath.

“They won’t get us,” Hela grumbles. “They’re ignorant and impersonal.”

With a pointed clearing of his throat, Clint looks over at them. “But they have _discounts_!”

“But they don’t provide anything that _we_ cannot provide _ourselves_. People love their indie bookshops and around the corner local sellers… don’t they?” Loki adds in with a frown as doubt starts creeping up his spine. Waves of dread are coming toward him and he can _feel_ it crawl all over his skin.

“But _discounts—_ ”

Sif’s eyes roll toward the sky, her dark green scarf engulfing her frown. “Clint, for fuck’s sake, shut up!”

It sits with Loki all day, this feeling of doubt that won’t stop showing itself to him in everything; in all the little things that he wouldn’t pay attention to, on a normal day, but that he can’t wrap his head around today. It makes his anxiety blow through the roof.

He can’t stop thinking that he is going to lose the shop for good, this time and that Hela won’t be saving him again. Not that she wouldn’t want to, of course, but she wouldn’t be able to carry that weight upon her shoulders like she did the first time, right after their mother died and Loki was left with the task of continuing her legacy through the bookstore. That was what he had envisioned for himself for a while as he had promised his mother and shared her love of books. Hela did as well, but it was Loki who found something special in the idea of allowing his mother’s shop, her life’s work, to live and evolve even after her death.

He barely remembers to breathe throughout the day until Hela kicks him out of the shop and tells him to go home.

 _Oh, and don’t forget to eat. Go get groceries,_ she texts him a little while later. _Also sext with your Sexy Pirate or something. Might take the edge off?_

Loki finds himself in the kitchen unloading his bag—chicken and veggies and a bunch of fruits, nothing much, really—and grinning as he thinks about his sister’s texts after absentmindedly shrugging off his coat.

 _Sexting_. As if they were... _involved_. 

A shudder runs down his spine at the idea of this man touching him—

Suddenly, his phone lights clear and blue on the counter.

He thinks it’s Hela again and barely takes a look until he notices it’s not her.

His heart misses a beat—

_Pirateangel?_

He realises it’s Sif and he huffs a sigh of disappointment as he reads over her text.

 _Sorry, Sif,_ he thinks. _I was waiting for someone else, I guess._

**Sif (7:21 p.m)**

_What do you think you’re gonna do for Thanksgiving this year?_

Loki mumbles, yawning and rubbing his face all over with a hand.

**Loki (7:24 p.m)**

_I don’t know. Maybe dinner at Hela’s. You wanna come?_

**Sif (7:25 p.m)**

_I was thinking about doing something at your apartment for a change? You never invite people anymore, it’s kinda sad._

A wheeze of annoyance sparks in Loki’s throat, soon extinguished because he realises Sif is right. It’s been a while since Loki has invited anyone to come over, anyone that isn’t Sif or Hela, whereas… “former” Loki used to have a much livelier home where it wasn’t just Leia and him hanging out with ice cream and Netflix.

**Sif (7:30 p.m)**

_Dude. You okay? I didn’t mean it in a bad way._

**Loki (7:30 p.m)**

_It’s fine. You’re right._

Sif calls him right away.

“What’s wrong?” she asks in the softest voice she can muster—not that it’s a strange thing coming from Sif, but it’s not… her preferred tone.

Loki feels a pang in his chest at how readable he is, at how easily Sif picks things up. He tries to plaster a smile on his face as he answers, finding his favourite spot on his couch. Leia comes running for him and curls up in his lap, little paws tangled in Loki’s shirt and her face smushed against his belly.

“Nothing,” he replies; his voice is tight, barely above a whisper, but it feels wrong. Of course it does. He’s so transparent that it is painful.

“Come on,” she presses. “ _Loki_.”

It’s as if she had nudged his arm while he fell silent on the other hand of the line, as she always does in real life.

“I don't know. I was just wondering about my work and all. I mean, what is it I do exactly? All I really do is run a bookstore that’s about to fail—”

“No,” Sif cuts, frowning, “no. Don’t say that. You are incredible and you do an incredible job keeping this bookstore open, you hear me? Don’t let these assholes crush you already.”

Loki leans closer to his phone, on the verge of tears at his best friend’s words, and lets out a tiny, strangled whine; he can’t think of a proper answer at all, his heartbeat growing a little harsher. In the end, he doesn't say anything right away, focusing instead on rubbing at the stain of mustard on his jeans, making a mental note to add a new bottle of detergent to the ever growing list of needed supplies that he keeps forgetting. His stomach churns at the memory of food.

He hasn’t been eating enough or well these days, anxiety taking up all the space in his stomach and filling him with a deep sense of dread.

“I’m tired,” Loki ends up answering. His dark-rimmed glasses fall a little on his nose and his hair, neatly arranged on his left side, curly and dark and soft before, is now a mess of tangles that he is going to hate later in the bathroom. “It’s a lot to handle, lately.”

The numbness he feels in his body grows like a crop that anxiety keeps watering.

“You are a lone reed waving in the breeze standing strong and tall in the corrupt sands of commerce. You are so much better than these men making money off culture and—”

“Sif,” Loki groans and rolls his eyes, laughing, “that’s so pompous. Also, we _do_ make money, too.”

“We _do_ but they’re making a point in crushing tiny indie bookshops for the sake of it. Crushing someone’s life work? That’s what they live for, it’s who they are. You? You’re so different, Loki.”

Loki rolls his eyes again, but he can’t help being suddenly frightened. He doesn't know of what, even though the answer glimmers somewhere at the edge of his head.

_Has fear prevented or rescued you from being yourself?_

Later on, sleep seems to trickle through his fingers like snow melting at his touch, elusive. It’s one of these nights that he hates, the ones where he stays awake and tries to manage his anxiety with all that he has, panic seizing him and eating him raw. He curls his fingers into the fabric of the bedsheets: so soft, yet so foreign to him at that moment—sensations are burning, either too sharp or too numb for him to feel them. He gets up, walks past his computer and phone, looks at them; expects the screen to go alight, blue and glowing and giving off friendly vibes.

Nothing.

He goes over to the window, avoiding tripping over the furniture that always seems to jump directly at his feet; looks out at his street at dusk before going over his bookshelf to pull out a copy of _Anna Karenina_. He stares at it for a long time, looks up, lost in thought, and wills away the burning sensation in his eyes and the emptiness that even wildfires can’t ignite anymore.

 _Why is everything so complicated these days?_ _  
_

He ends up grabbing his laptop and sits in bed, writing _pirateangel_ a message before his heart bursts out of his chest out of anxiety and sadness.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Tues Nov 14, 2017 10:41 p.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_I don’t know if I lead the life I lead because I like it or because I have been wanting to perpetuate my mother’s legacy. Maybe I haven’t been brave? Maybe that’s why I feel stuck, these days, helpless and without any idea on how to move on with what’s been going on. It feels like winter—the bad side of winter: slow life, slow moving. Slow me. Bad ideas all over and head full of questions._

_You don’t have to answer. I’m not asking for one, to be honest; I just need to get this out because tonight feels especially bad to me. I just want to send out this into the void._

_Goodnight, dear friend._

**_x x x_ **

“I think we should get a better website with some e-commerce, don’t you think? With one-day shipping like Amazon?”

Loki arches an eyebrow, spares a perfunctory glance at the room. “My mother would be screaming if she ever heard you, Sif. “Every book you sell is a gift from your heart,” she used to say. Fuck Amazon.”

Sif rolls her eyes. “Well, fuck them indeed but they ship fast and it’s cheaper.” As they walk further inside the cafe, she keeps mumbling to herself with her hot mug in hand. “What if they put us out of business, Loki? You gotta think about that.”

“I’ve thought about it every single day since I’ve known these assholes were coming up around the corner,” Loki groans, feeling the tightness around his chest before he points out the binders standing proudly in front of them, snuggling against one another on a shelf. He can read the few titles scattered here and there on the different spines— _Men for Women_ , _Women for Men_ , _Women for Women_ , _Men for Men_. “What is this?”

“You fill out one of the forms in there about your favorite books with your email address and if someone is interested, they can contact you and you can meet up,” Sif explains, and there’s an unexpected rawness to her voice that Loki has trouble understanding.

“What a stupid way to meet someone,” he mumbles, his tone sarcastic to place as he looks up at the ceiling.

“You mean, compared to a literature forum and talking about Bonnefoy?” Sif says with a raised eyebrow and a grin.  
  
Loki blusters before he can stop himself, flushing red like a tomato. “We’re not _romantically_ involved!”

Sif’s eyebrow is still raised, and she is still very much smirking. “So you still haven’t met him?”

The tightness in his chest remains. Loki pulls his sleeves down over his arms, down the ugly scar running around his forearm that he almost forgets these days. “I do not plan on meeting him. End of discussion.”

Sif sneaks a glance sideways. “You’ve been such a poor liar recently. What happened to your legendary silver tongue?”

“Odinson Books happened to me,” Loki grumbles, then stops; plays with the hem of his sweater and gives her a wry smile upon realising the topic at stake. “Wait. Why do I get a feeling _you_ would be out there in the binders to meet someone?”

They look at each other in a short circuit of uncertainty, Sif grinning while Loki frowns.

“Maybe because I am?”

She flips the book open and shows Loki her application. If she ends up blushing, Loki takes care not to mention it, focusing on the press of her fingertips on the paper instead.

“ _What_?” she grumbles.

“Nothing,” Loki replies and licks his lips, the beginning of a grin showing up on his face. “I didn’t think you’d need it, is all.”

“I was sad and tired a few weeks ago and ended up here, filling out the form while drinking coffee until I was twitching. I just…” and she looks up at Loki, frowns. “I don’t know, dude, stop looking at me like that,” she grunts, “maybe I feel lonely?”

They leave the binders back in their shelf and find a free table to sit at, Loki pulling his chair towards him and still grinning. He grabs a pack of sugar and adds it to his cup. The morning sky is blood-red in the distance and Loki can’t stop thinking that these smoky moments of dawn definitely are the calmest, especially on Saturdays.

A beat.

“So. Did you get anything?”

Sif smiles softly. “I might.”

“And?”

“And she’s cute and smart and her boss has a boat?”

“That’s the worst.” Loki pauses, his nose wrinkling. “The boat, I mean. I could _never_ be with someone who owns a boat.”

**_x x x_ **

“Uncle Thor!”

“Uncle _BORE_!”

“Tommy! Don’t call Thor like that! And be careful with the boat!”

Thor laughs at the kids and jumps off the boat to greet Wanda, Vision and their twins, squinting against the glare of the sunlight.

“Hi!” he says gently as he picks up Tommy, who has been running at full speed toward him. “How is it going, buddy?”

It’s Billy’s turn to be picked up, but he doesn’t run toward Thor, just walks, still holding Wanda’s hand timidly; he is definitely the shyer of the twin brothers, far less of an extrovert compared to his bouncy sibling. The washed-out light of the midday sun illuminates the city in blue and golden hues behind them, a stark contrast compared to the day before, bathed in grey clouds and heavy rain.

“Dad told us how to spell our name! M-A-X-I-M-O-F-F.”

“That’s excellent,” Thor smiles at Tommy, then shots a grin at Vision who smirks back. “Do you think you can try to spell mine?”

“O-D-I-N-S-O-N,” Billy’s voice comes through softly, fingers tightening in the back of Thor’s shirt.

Vision and Wanda brush tender hands through their sons’ hair before dropping a kiss on their cheeks.

Some people would complain about having to babysit kids that age but Thor doesn’t mind; actually, he loves it and even asked to see Billy and Tommy more after they were born.

Wanda and Vision have been his best friends—along with Jane—for so long that he sometimes doesn’t remember they’re not as free as before. He has been seeing them less often with the kids and their professional lives—both of them doctors—taking up so much space.

He smiles at Wanda. “Everything okay on your end?”

She slaps Thor’s shoulder and barks a laugh. “Everything’s fine! We’re dead tired but since you asked for the kids this weekend, we’re going to have some time for ourselves at a fancy hotel with a spa.”

“God do we need it,” Vision sighs tiredly as he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist. “This week has been crazy.”

That elicits a laugh from both Thor and Wanda.

“You _always_ overwork yourself, Viz.”

They keep chatting for a bit before Vision takes a look at his watch.

“We need to go, darling,” he tells his wife gently, pressing a kiss to both of his sons’ cheeks. “Be good with uncle Thor, okay?”

Wanda does the same, hugs Thor and waves goodbye.

“Don’t kill our kids!” she smiles over her shoulder on her way back to the car.

**_x x x_ **

There’s a chocolate sauce on Tommy’s cheek and he’s laughing, lips brown and red, the air playing with his blond hair and seeping through his small cardigan. Thor laughs and wipes his cheek and mouth, leaning in to kiss his forehead. The air smells like rose and pine and upcoming frost, something spicy, something slightly warm, and he hums, takes a few minutes to feel it curl beneath his shirt.

It makes his heart ache pleasantly to be with the kids, something replacing the pain he has been experiencing as the opening of the bookstore draws near.

**_x x x_ **

Billy presses his face to the tall glass windows, the high sky of November falling onto his light brown hair, transforming it into a mop of auburn curls. “Uncle Thor, it looks nice, can we go inside?”

Independent bookstores like these always remind Thor of his mother, who had started with one herself before she married his father and left everything behind to focus on Odinson Books.

“Of course,” Thor answers with a smile, Tommy cooing excitedly at some comic book standing behind the glass. “If you want anything, just ask.”

**_x x x_ **

Adrenaline bursts in Loki’s abdomen when he realises who’s in front of him.

 _Handsome Stranger_ is smiling at him with a kid in his arms.

Oh, _fuck_. He should have known. Of course that guy has a wife and kids.

Despite the muzzle he has put on his normal train of articulated thoughts, he can feel himself fall into hushed frustration, and it seeps into his bones as a lingering chill.

“Nice to see you again,” says Handsome Stranger, his gaze clear and focused. “I mean. If you remember me,” he says, but there doesn’t seem to be anything accusatory about it.

Loki can see the other man giving him a small smile, and that helps him calm down, even though his throat feels dry.

_He remembers, too. Good._

“How could I ever forget being ridiculous in front of you?” Loki smirks with an edge of awkwardness and hesitation, and he ends up laughing, relaxed and warm and happier than he has been for longer than he can remember—such a weird feeling knowing he’s facing someone who has witnessed him being a dumbass in public.

It’s a cold but clear, sunny day outside, leaves painted gold with the sunlight pouring through the sky, and rays come out and fall through the glass windows across Handsome Stranger’s face to kiss his cheeks. It makes Loki think of old Byzantine art and its blossoming brushing of golden light all over biblical faces. Flickering yellows and reds drip onto his jacket and blue eyes, and all that Loki can do is stare and stare and stare until he realises what he is doing and a mortifying blush creeps along the lines of his neck all up to his face.

A flash of sapphire sun. Handsome Stranger is smiling at him, genuine and contagious, and Loki feels a slight nervous flip in his stomach at it.

“Brother,” Hela’s voice comes through his daydream, “I think this gentleman is asking you a question.”

The other man’s stare is as soft as summer rain; warm and gentle and whispering sweet nothings to his ears.

“Sorry,” Loki says hurriedly, still flushed to his very core, “what can I help you with?”

Handsome Stranger shakes his head. “It’s alright, I was just asking about—”

Billy sneezes hard, suddenly, and stops the man in his tracks. Loki doesn’t think twice, reaches for the handkerchief his mother embroidered for him so many years ago that lies in his pocket— _“why are you not using tissues like any normal human being?”_ Hela would ask so often—and hands it over the counter to Billy who looks back at him, puzzled.

“What is that?” he asks in a tiny voice.

“It’s a tissue you don’t throw away,” Loki answers softly, and his eyes crinkle with gentle lines. His voice is low, seeking and holding Billy’s gaze. “My mother embroidered this one for me—see, there are orchids and my initials. Orchids are my favourite flowers.”

Billy takes the handkerchief between his small fingers and stares at it for a long time, long enough that Loki starts asking himself if the kid has frozen. Instead, Billy simply raises his head and says, “My favourite flowers are the yellow ones in my mom’s garden.”

“That would be amber-coloured roses,” Handsome Stranger adds in for the child, and gives Loki another smile; fingertips brush through the mop of brown hair on his head. “Billy, you should thank...”

The man trails off before throwing a questioning look at Loki, who’s quick to fill it in for him.

“Loki,” he says with a smile, dry quietness and shyness somehow showing up on his lips, and he doesn’t know why. “Loki Laufeyson.”

Billy wipes his nose with the handkerchief and folds it back very gently before putting it on Loki’s counter. “Thank you, Mr Loki.”

He storms off after his twin brother at that, leaving Loki to face Handsome Stranger whose arms, he didn’t realise, are full of books.

“Thor,” he eventually says with another one of these delightful, easy smiles of his. “Just Thor. And I’ll take those, please.”

“Thor,” Loki repeats, choking a little on the name and fumbling with his hands before he takes a look through the selection and smiles as he encounters _Last Love Poems_ by Paul Eluard. “Gift for a friend?” he asks.

A fond smile settles on Thor’s face before he shakes his head. “For myself.” He stops, looking genuinely emotional, his features melting into the softest expression Loki has ever witnessed on someone else’s face. “A dear friend recommended it to me and I just knew I had to get it.”

“Your friend has good taste,” Loki smiles, waves of feelings thrumming under his skin.

“He really does,” Thor smiles back.

 _I see everyone is in a Paul Eluard mood, even at work,_ Loki writes to pirateangel later this day _. Funny how it made me think of you;_ and pirateangel replies, _but who isn’t in a Paul Eluard mood for this fall, I ask you? Dear friend, he’s so wonderful. And buying the book today reminded me of you, too._

Clint peers out behind Loki and takes a look at the books on the counter.

“You’re going to come back, aren’t you?”

Loki frowns and lifts his head to be at eye-level with his employee. “What?”

Clint shakes his head. “I was asking the gentleman, boss.”

He goes up to the cash desk and rummages around on it all the while risking a look at the blond man still standing at the counter.

“Of course,” Thor replies, not entirely sure where the conversation is going but answering nonetheless. “I like the atmosphere here. Reminds me of my mother.”

For a moment, Loki perks up, surprised, and finds himself staring at the red stain of happiness blooming on Thor’s face like a poppy; soft and gentle and blowing away with the wind.

“You see?” Clint smirks, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s why we’re never going to go under!”

Thor throws him a puzzled look though Clint is already busying himself elsewhere, away from the counter and Loki’s giant sigh at being reminded of _Things He Wishes He Could Forget About, Just For One Day._

“They’re opening an Odinson Books around the corner,” Loki sighs quietly; he might come apart at the seams with all the anxiety he has been feeling lately and how his heart is beating behind his ribcage.

Tommy’s head flips. “Odinson Books? But that’s your—”

Thor gently puts his hand over Tommy’s mouth and his eyes crinkle differently than they did before. “—My least favourite place on Earth,” he finishes for the kid, his laugh sounding a little fevered. “Tommy has a lot to say about them, and he’s starting so young.”

Loki chuckles, trying to keep his voice as light and as merry as possible when asking, “how old is your son?”

He can’t help the pang of annoyance at himself for being frustrated at this man having children, at being probably engaged or worse, _married._ He drums his fingers on the table, _one two three, one two three_ until Thor chuckles back, huffing out a laugh, his smile threatening to split his face.

Thor winks at Loki. “Oh, no! Tommy and Billy are my best friends’ kids, not mine.”

Loki finds himself grinning, hanging on to the counter tightly enough to make his hand ache, the electric sensation travelling from clavicle to fingers; closes his eyes for a split second and so much relief washes over him that he almost feels guilty about it.

_You can be such a vain piece of shit at times._

He blinks himself back into coherence. “That’s so nice of you to take care of them.”

_Why are you making such stupid small talk?_

Thor, he finds, is much like like summer and warm evenings spent reading in their family garden, the strange melancholia brought by autumn and the scrape of rain when the city sleeps: gentle and quiet, yet brimming with an energy Loki is eager to see, to taste. He has met this man twice and he can’t help wanting to know more about him, about the tattoo that sticks out from underneath the collar of his sweater at the juncture between his shoulder and neck, about his taking care of twins for his best friends and the lines of stress and worry that line his forehead.

“I like it,” the blond man answers, pushing the kids away to a corner where dinosaurs books are on display. Tommy soon has his hands on the comic book he saw earlier on, eyes sparkling, and Thor sighs in relief, danger avoided. He takes his wallet out of his pocket while Loki is scanning his books. “I work all week and it’s not the easiest job in the world, so having the kids is somehow... relaxing.”

Loki snorts. “Kids aren’t exactly what I would call “relaxing,” but I can see why you seem to think so.”

They don’t talk for a while, just enjoying the background noises and Loki’s swift fingers upon book covers until Loki catches Thor looking around, features torn between tenderness and aggravation.

“I know we don’t do earth-shattering discounts like Odinson Books but sulking won’t push me to take more money off your list,” he jokes tentatively, hoping to lighten the mood. As much as Loki wants to play it cool, he can’t help the anxiety running down his spine.

Hearing the rasp of the other man’s breath as it catches in his throat, anxiety curls even tighter in his belly. Thor’s face eventually breaks into another one of what appears to be his “signature” smiles, much to Loki’s happiness.

“And what’s the story of the shop?” Thor asks gently. “You got me interested.”

“I used to help my mother here after school,” Loki starts explaining as Thor’s eyebrows arch upwards and he leans forward on the counter to listen, Loki’s stomach flipping in the process. “I was a kid and watched her every move with delight because this bookstore was—and still is—our sanctuary. It’s probably silly, but...” and he stops, takes a look down at his black fingernails splayed upon the glossy cover of the Paul Eluard collection, “books help you shape yourself, and my mum was one of these people who believed in their magic until the very end—she believed selling books would help people become whoever they were supposed to become. Books become part of your identity; you carry them with you, always, whether they have a positive or negative impact on you.”

He stops again and throws Thor a glance; the man hasn’t moved or stopped watching Loki, which makes him even more nervous that he crossed the line or went too sappy about his job.

Loki clears his throat. “I guess I got carried away.”

“No, it’s alright,” Thor says in a hurry. “I loved it, and you made me feel—”

It’s Thor’s turn to stop in his tracks and to trail off when he catches sight of the frame on the wall behind Loki where a woman—most probably Loki’s mother—and a grinning child are standing in front of an older version of the shop’s front window.

“ _—Great_ ,” he finishes, finding Loki’s face again. “Your mother seemed like a really great person.”

This picture of them makes melancholy wash over Loki, reminding him of the ocean waves that swelled at his feet back in August while he was on holidays with Hela and Sigyn. Breathing the salty air had brought tears to his face. It makes him both happy and sad—happy that this happened, sad that his mother is no longer here with them to guide him, especially during these trying times.

“She was,” Loki smiles with jagged edges, nonetheless kissed by sunlight. “She left the store to me and I hope to leave it to my children. Or Hela’s.”

“How old are your children?”

Loki shakes his head and hands the other man his books, secretly pleased again at the sight of the Eluard book. “I don’t have any. I’m not married, either. Not that you have to be married to have kids, but, yeah. You know. I’m just a poor single soul married to his work and trying to fight off bad dudes from big chains.” He grins at that, even wider when Clint’s muffled “fuck off Odinson Books!” comes up behind the counter. “Here you go.”

He can’t help the way his heart curls on itself when Thor brushes against his hand with his fingers, a soft, sunny smile on his lips as he retrieves his books.

“It was nice seeing you again,” Thor says honestly, eyes sparkling. “I kind of hoped we would meet again after that Starbucks encounter.”

In the background, the slow music seeps easily into the growing dimness of the shop as hours pass and the day turns into soft evening. Loki thinks he hasn’t smiled this much in years, and it feels good and right. He shuts up his never-ending internal monologue in favour of returning the compliment, weirdly pleased that life decided he would meet Handsome Stranger again on his _own_ terms, on _his own ground._

“Until we meet again, then,” Loki says and pushes a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” Thor answers with a grin on his face.

The few hours left at work go in a daze, Loki in a better mood and Hela teasing him relentlessly about it right until he goes to bed. Her texts pile up and Loki cannot even find it in himself to be mad.

**Hela (8:47 p.m)**

_Looks like that Thor dude really liked being here. ;)_

**Loki (8:51 p.m)**

_It was nice seeing him again!_

**Hela (8:51 p.m)**

_Brother, you’re so pure. Here we are with Sigyn just writing out all the possible scenarios you could get with him._

**Loki (8:52 p.m)**

_While I adore you both, you should really stop imagining my life as a film or a fanfiction, because it definitely ISN’T._

**Hela (9:03 p.m)**

_Loki, he’s so into you!_

**Hela (9:16 p.m)**

_Are you mad at me because he definitely checked your ass?_

**Hela (9:23 p.m)**

_Loki. LOKI. He enjoyed seeing you A LOT._

**Hela (9:29 p.m)**

_BROTHER._

**Hela (9:45 p.m)**

_This dude definitely likes you! Sigyn’s gaydar doesn’t lie!_

**Loki (9:54 p.m)**

_I’m going to bed. Goodnight._

**Hela (9:58 p.m)**

_It’s only ten!_

**Hela (10:00 p.m)**

_Have sweet dreams of Handsome Dude!_

**Loki (10:02 p.m)**

_You should stop drinking wine. Goodnight._

**Hela (11:21 p.m)**

_LOKI. HE IS INTO YOU. I THINK I SAW HIM SOMEWHERE BUT I DON’T REMEMBER WHERE. ANYWAY. HE IS INTO YOU. LOKI. TAKE YOUR CHANCE._

**_x x x_ **

_Veiny leaves and minty breath with hints of vanilla and cinnamon. Never encountered this combination before,_ Sif tells herself, lips pressed to Brunnhilde’s neck in her tiny bed that takes root in a corner of her equally tiny New York apartment. _She’s something else entirely._

“Do you always think this loudly?”

_Even her voice is something else._

Sif chuckles into the curve of the woman’s neck, feeling the dichotomy between the softness of her skin and the tensed bow of her muscles. There’s nothing accusatory in Brunnhilde’s tone, just curiosity and pleased surprised, and Sif finds that she likes it very much.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, a smile catching at the edge of her mouth, “but I bet I’m as easy to read as an open book.” Chest tightening, she laughs it off. “Which is both nice and frustrating.”

“I like honest people,” Brunnhilde says gently. “I don’t think it’s a default to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

For a second, Brunnhilde seems contrite, frustrated with something, and Sif glances at the storm before her, confused.

She eventually shakes the thoughts out of Brunnhilde’s head with a kiss and sinks further into her body, warm and solid against her own.

**_x x x_ **

Loki dexterously picks up his salmon sushi with his chopstick and dips the fish in soy sauce. “I hope we don’t see any of these pricks from Odinson Books tonight,” he mumbles, watching Hela take a sip of her sake from the corner of his eyes.

“I’ll punch them,” she replies matter-of-factly, her eyes never moving from Loki’s, which he finds fascinating because Hela never seems to have a problem doing two things at the same time. She holds out her hand from across the table and reaches for Loki’s pale one, the soft press of her fingers along his palm a calming touch though his heart is still hammering in his chest.

He nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat and watching as Hela’s eyelashes make dancing shadows on her face. He thinks of the marbles of scars on his body, of the way anxiety won’t let him be. Of how he feels himself burn out with all that he has to handle, and then Hela comments on Sigyn’s new painting and Loki gets carried away with the flow.

They finish their meal slowly, talking about everything but the bookstore and Loki is grateful that Hela decided not to focus on it, at least during their dinner together. As they walk in the street later on their way to the party Sif had invited them to—a publication party from an author her new girlfriend and Hela know named James Buchanan Barnes—Loki can feel a smile start to curve his lips before he drags his eyes from the sidewalk.

“You will really punch anyone who gets in our way, won’t you?”

Hela smirks. “What do you think? This is our shop, mum’s legacy, and I won’t have any of these assholes take it away from us; from _you_ , especially.”

Worry laces through his veins at the mention of losing the shop, but Hela wraps an arm around his waist and brings him closer, pulling her brother into a fierce hug. Around them, the lights from the street lamps spew golden light all over the pavement.

“We’re in this together and we’re going to be fine,” she murmurs in Loki’s black hair. In her embrace, he nods firmly, brushing a tired hand over his eyes before they resume their walk toward the address Sif had given them and find themselves in the elevator up to the fourth floor.

James— _Bucky_ , actually, Loki realises as Hela greets him—welcomes them at the door, Sif in sight with who appears to be her girlfriend and many other people Loki doesn’t recall ever seeing before; mostly journalists and media, apparently, and a few scattered faces he recognises here and there.

“It’s been a while, Hela,” Bucky smiles as he hugs her.

“It has,” she grins back, “congratulations on the book! I’m sure Steve is even more enamoured.”

“Oh, that… he is,” and the look of pure tenderness on Bucky’s face makes something stir in Loki’s guts.

Yearning, desire, jealousy. He hates those with a passion.

“I don’t know if you remember my little brother Loki,” Hela adds, turning to her brother and making sure to include him.

Bucky holds out his hand and smiles again gently, Loki shaking it and smiling back.

“Hi,” Loki says quietly, “that’s a nice flat you have here.”

Bucky beams and looks around the room fondly. “Kind of a surreal story, if I’m honest with you. Came from nothing, my family was poor as dirt, and now I’m a published author married to his childhood best friend. Pinch me but I’m dreaming.”

Loki is tempted to say that it’s disgustingly sweet, but what he isn’t confessing is that he wishes he could have the same situation going on instead of having a shop that will probably go under sooner or later.

And. Well.

Yeah. A crush on a ghost that he met on the Internet. _Spectacular_ , to say the least.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Loki says in earnest, eyes crinkling in the dim light of the flat. “I’ll let you guys catch up, I need to meet Sif’s new girlfriend.”

**_x x x_ **

On the other side of the living room, Thor’s heart skips a beat when he looks over Steve’s (giant) shoulder and notices Loki meeting up with Brunnhilde and her new girlfriend.

_Fuck. What is he doing here?_

“Thor?” Steve asks, arching an eyebrow. “You okay? You look stricken, all of a sudden.”

Thor shifts his position so Loki can't see his face, but sneaks a look nevertheless and manages to see him speak with the two women. Loki is grinning as he crosses his arms, tilting his head with a smirk on his lips; fuck, _he looks so good_ in this green emerald shirt and black jeans and _Thor absolutely can’t be seen here or it will start World War Three._

“I’ll go get another drink,” Thor declares in a rush.

He disappears between the tight mass of people crowding the apartment.

When he reaches the bar, he glances over his shoulder before relaxing down with a sigh. _No Loki in sight. Good._

He orders a glass of red wine, closing his eyes for a second, and listens.

“A glass of white wine, please,” someone says nearby.

 _I’m screwed,_ Thor thinks. Loki's voice travels through his body like thunder.

“Thor?”

He brushes a lock of fair hair off of his forehead, biting down on his bottom lip as he turns around and looks up at Loki. “Hello.”

“Remember me from the bookstore? And Starbucks, but please forget it if you can.”

“Of course I remember you,” Thor replies; he tries to smile, somehow hopes he doesn't have to make small talk and can escape this goddamn situation as soon as possible. “Fancy seeing you there.”

Loki smiles despite feeling the shadows in the other man’s eyes shift. “My sister knows the author.”

It’s actually endearing, the way Loki blushes whenever their eyes catch. Thor tries very hard to swallow his own pounding heart down.

Thor clears his throat, says: “I have to deliver this.”

He shows the glass of red wine to Loki, and for one sharp moment, he regrets everything that he's been thinking, regrets lying to this man for the sake of… the sake of _what_ , exactly? He doesn’t even know how to answer that one and it drives him crazy. Regret is useless and painful, and it drains something out of him.

“I have a very thirsty friend who needs his fuel, you see.”

Loki laughs, this time, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should go, then.”

Thor disappears into the party without looking back, suit wrinkled and leaving a shadow of uneasiness and doubt in his tracks.

“You know Thor Odinson?” Bucky asks suddenly from behind Loki, Hela on the side.

“Thor _Odinson_ ?” Loki gasps. “As in— as in, _Odinson_?”

It cracks through Loki like lightning, so sharply it gives him whiplash.

Handsome Stranger, aka Thor, is _Thor Odinson_ , the man who’s opening a _fucking bookchain_ store around _his_ corner?

Thor is standing at a table of food squinting out of the corner of his eye, his back to the room when Loki eventually finds him; he watches as the man reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to snap a picture of the buffet made out of various colours and appetising food.

The chatter in the background is deafening to someone like Loki and it’s a little too much all at once, especially with what he has just learnt. Maybe he should eat a slice of bread with hummus; maybe that would calm him down, in a weird way.

The spoon isn’t of the plastic kind Loki expected but sturdy and silver instead.

“Rich people,” he mutters to himself, scooping a bit of the chickpea paste and putting it on top of whole grain bread.

Fuck.

Fuck, it won’t do. He needs to confront Thor—he won’t calm down until he does.

**_x x x_ **

Blood rushes into Loki’s head as he steps up beside Thor and addresses him. “Odinson? You’re _Thor Odinson_?”

His voice feels disconnected, destroying himself in an attempt to be brave; his cheeks burn something awful and he swallows down the difficult intake of air.

Thor spins around and looks at him.

God, it’s so _fucking_ hard to keep his composure right now.

Blue eyes study Loki intensely. “That’s my name.”

“God, I didn’t realise who you…” Loki trails off, heart in his throat, too shocked and angry to finish his sentence. Something he can’t exactly pinpoint—anger? Frustration? Sadness?—is shrinking his insides, consuming him and reducing all of his efforts of being calm to nothing.

“...who I was. I know.” Thor clears his throat and does the quotation mark with his fingers. “‘I didn’t know you were Thor Odinson.’”

Loki narrows his eyes. The rush of adrenaline he had before has slowly faded to black and the slice of bread in his hand suddenly weighs a ton. “Excuse me?”

“I get this all the time, but maybe it’s for the best. I don’t like being in the spotlight, unlike my father and step-sister,” Thor sighs; his voice sounds distant like it's hastily constructed from half-pieces in the air. He picks at his ragged thumbnail, avoiding the burning gaze of the other man.

“You were spying on me, weren’t you?” Loki says accusingly. Fire tears through his guts. “Don’t tell me you rented those children to make it more believable, too, that’d make you sound even more like a Disney villain.”

Thor arches an eyebrow. “Why would I spy on… _you_?”

It stings, the way he says “you”. As if Loki was nothing but a bug to be killed; a mere annoyance. In spite of himself, he colours.

“I am your direct competition and you know that perfectly well. Your sign doesn’t lie. You were here to spy on me, to see how we work, weren’t you?” Loki lets out and stares at him with incredulity and bitterness, feeling that a horrible impending pain will soon crash his whole being.

Thor smiles this time, baring his little white teeth. “Me, a spy, that’s a good one, Loki, gotta give you that.” He chuckles bitterly. “Look, the reason I came into your store wasn’t to spy on you. I have better things to do with my life, actually. I was spending the weekend with Billy and Tommy and wanted to make them happy with a present, because, believe it or not, I love books and I want them to love them too. Your store was on the way and we stopped there. Period.”

Blushing in embarrassed outrage, Loki tilts his head and looks at him, eyes burning. “You’re everything they’ve said you were. You really are.”

He realises that he can’t stop running his fingers over the dark green fabric of his arm, over the pinch of his bony limb beneath, sticking out and making the smooth trajectory bumpy, unsure. Unsafe.

“Who I really am?” Thor asks in confusion, and Loki sees something akin to blush on the other man's face, half surprise, half frustration. Thor probably already knows the subtlety of Loki’s sentence.

At the far end of the flat, Loki’s eyes track Hela as she emerges from the balcony, eyebrows furrowed and accompanied by a red-haired woman who is trailing behind her, both of them making their way toward Loki and Thor to Loki’s confusion.

“You two really look nothing alike,” Hela’s deep voice cuts through. She looks stern and stiff, which doesn’t mean anything good. “But I’m sure you share the same delightful traits your father gave you.”

Loki’s head whips down so quickly his neck cracks. His hands are trembling and he's trying to hide them, sticking them behind himself; like a child. A child. That’s what Thor thinks of him—something incapable of holding a business and making it thrive.

It brings a chill to the very marrow of his bones.

“You shouldn’t stay with him, brother,” Hela adds. “We should go.”

“I have no desire to talk to that man more,” Loki manages to say through his trembling voice that is trying to edge over firmness, swallowing the bile down in the back of his throat, his fingers tapping hollowly against the plastic cup of wine still in his hand.

“You know her?” Thor asks his half-sister in disbelief, if only to break the cloying silence between them and to take up space in his brain instead of dark thoughts.

His piercing blue eyes are gazing deeply into the scene at hand, at Hela, Angela and Loki in turn, and the bitter tang of wine resurfaces at that, alcohol threading thick through his veins.

_Shitty wine for a shitty party._

Loki uses a couple of fingers to trace down the length of the scars sequenced on his wrists and curling into silver white slashes; it grounds him, helps him keep the anxiety at bay in situations where shattering keeps glimmering at the edge of his vision.

“Hela’s one of my exes,” Angela says, her voice a neutral line Thor can’t wrap his head around. “We met during college and dated for almost two years.”

“Yeah, and you ruined it all because your ego is as big as the moon,” Hela throws back, soft but charged with an anger Loki recognises very well. “Doesn’t surprise me that your brother inherited the same trait since it runs in the family.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Thor retorts, frustrated.

Hela looks him up and down with a bitter smirk. “Oh, aren’t you? Your very goal is to crush us with your bookstore, so let me be a little sceptical about the relevance of your statement.”

“Why would I want to crush an independent bookstore that barely sells 200 000 dollars worth of books per year? Are you so full of yourselves to think I would be afraid of _that_ to the point that it would compel me to rush out to you and spy on your strategy? Your brother here scarcely makes ends meet.” He rolls his eyes. “Can I have the hummus spoon, please?”

Poisoning, tantalising. That’s all Thor seems to be interested in giving the Laufeysons right now, under this spot of orange light falling on them. He stares up at Hela with those stormy eyes of his, and she holds his stare with as much dignity as the man before her.

Saying that kind of shit and then asking for a fucking spoon to get himself hummus. A little mocking. _Fuck him. Fuck. Him._ It makes Loki’s ribs ache with the strength of it, the mocking strength of someone more powerful than him who doesn’t care whether he loses his shop or not. His shop. _His mother’s shop._ Everything.

Loki’s skin prickles and he looks like he's been slapped; he can feel his blood boil in his veins but is too shocked to reply, staring at the floor instead as he works on breathing deeply for a while so as to calm down. He can barely open his eyes again when they close, let alone speak clearly, trying to shake away the feeling of frost between his fingers.

Thor opens his mouth to apologise but Loki is already looking away and he decides that it’s not worth it; none of this is, really, and he wants to go and erase all the shit this evening has pulled on him so far. He even ends up wondering with a hint of sour amusement if anything else is going to come up as a cherry on top.

“Here! Have your fucking spoon!” Loki spits, throwing the spoon on the floor at Thor’s feet before backing away and striding to the other end of the room, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment and anger.

That was such a childish move, he realises, but he couldn’t help himself when faced with such— such— _despicable_ behaviour.

There's a light tap on his shoulder. Loki looks up, dazed; his eyes burn a little as he squints directly in the lights.

Sif frowns; she smells like wild lilacs and it gives Loki a headache. “Are you okay? You just threw a spoon of hummus at that dude—”

Loki vaguely notes the soft accents of worry in her voice, but shrugs them off; he doesn’t even know what _he_ is feeling _himself_. “Handsome Stranger is _Thor Odinson_. I feel robbed. He's handsome _and_ an asshole!”

“I—what? Really?”

He raises his eyes to meet hers. “It’s a mess, Sif. I need to go,” and he presses his hand to his best friend’s shoulder, an intimate touch.

He can barely bring himself to say a polite goodbye before walking past the now slightly crestfallen and mostly worried Sif.

He needs something to pull him through. Something to make him power through this and the betrayal he has just witnessed; god, he feels ridiculous thinking this is a fucking _betrayal_. Why does he even care? He met Thor _twice_ in his life. It shouldn’t be that big of a freaking deal.

The tension in Loki’s chest finally eases when Hela and he eventually get out of the flat to spill out on the pavement outside, moon glowing high in the sky and air fresh through his lungs.

**_x x x_ **

“She almost got me a job at Odinson Books,” Hela grunts as they beat the wet asphalt.

Loki pauses, turning part of his body towards her. “She _what_?”

Hela sighs and runs a hand through her dark-as-gasoline hair. “I was in desperate need of an internship and Angela offered me the position.”

“And?”

He waits, and when she doesn't answer, he glances back, catching Hela’s eye for a moment before looking away. The ache has moved to his chest, now, and he wishes it hadn’t.

“Odin is the biggest asshole on this planet,” she says instead, but it goes without saying that this was a whole mess and didn’t work out; Loki doesn’t even have to ask. Instead, he holds onto Hela’s hand and wraps his other arm around her arm, hugging her tightly to his body in an attempt at comfort, not only for Hela but also for himself, selfishly, currents of warmth radiating from his fingers and feeling lighter somehow.

He turns around again before she leaves, considers his sister carefully and licks his lips, gravel crunching beneath his feet in his motion because of the construction work nearby.

“Did you love her?”

The silence stretches on as the streets around them sleep peacefully, New York in a deep slumber after a long night out. It’s staring at him now, worry practically pouring out of the cracks in the asphalt.

Expression clear and unguarded, Hela smiles sadly, gives a small laugh that makes Loki shudder with how unhappy it rings in his ears, then visibly gathers herself.

“I’d like to think I did.”

**_x x x_ **

“You should come up for a drink,” Angela says. “You look like you need it.”

Thor scrubs his face and wipes the sleep from the corner of his eyes, feeling the gleam of the stars above. “Actually,” he says as he turns to Angela and smiles, “I’m tired. I think I’ll just go home and meet up with my bed.”

Panic is slowly melting into something darker, harsher, into regrets and frustration and everything that Thor cannot control.

The fantasy has turned to ash. He must accept it. He must accept his error of trying to see past his goal without attaching anger to it. Loki sounds like a decent person, enough that Thor wanted to… what? _Befriend_ him?

He was so stupid to think so.

She clicks her tongue at him. “Feeling bad about pushing that indie shop to its last stop?”

“I don’t care about it,” Thor hisses like a cat, “I really have other things to think about. Goodnight, Angela.”

“It sounded like you were on friendly terms with Hela’s brother before he realised you were Thor Odinson. Don’t tell me you pulled that trick again? They all fall for this and you along with it.”

Oh, the vicious burst of memory it brings.

“Goodnight, Angela,” Thor repeats, feeling frustration and annoyance scrabble at the edges of his voice and building up like no tomorrow; he has a sudden flare of fear at what could happen if Angela did push it again.

“Thor, come on, you can talk to me—”

This time, Thor whips around. “Goodnight, Angela,” he repeats one last time in a drawl, eyes shining a rare shade of rage. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Her voice still travels to his ears— _Thor, listen to me, we need to have an adult discussion_ —when he closes the heavy door of his apartment until there is no sound left.

He grabs a beer in the fridge, pets Fenrir and sinks into his couch without even turning the lights on, drinking and remaking his discussion with Loki in his head over and over again until he can’t take it anymore.

A sigh and he pushes his bottle away on the table to grab his phone.

**Thor (00:20 p.m)**

_I really fucking hate what my father has made me become._

**Jane (00:31 p.m)**

_What happened? Do you need me to call you?_

**Thor (00:33 a.m)**

_You know when you make an ass of yourself in public because you can’t stop the verbal diarrhea? Well._

**Jane (00:33 a.m)**

_What did you do?_

**Thor (00:34 a.m)**

_I got mad at someone and indirectly insulted them and their job. Which is really shitty because it’s a family thing and I know how much they cherish it and. God, Jane. I snapped? Became Mr. Snap. Again. I hate it._

**Jane (00:34 a.m)**

_Shouldn’t you let Heimdall handle the opening of your new bookstore instead of pushing yourself too much? You’ve been exhausted lately and so damn stressed out that “work” is the only word you mutter, the only topic you seem to talk about. It’s not good._

**Thor (00:36 a.m)**

_I can’t do that. It will mean I failed, and I can’t have that with my father. I need to hold on until the bookstore opens and then, maybe… maybe I can take a few days off. I don’t know. I just… I can’t let my father think that I can’t handle the company._

**Jane (00:37 a.m)**

_But isn’t your mental health more important?_

**Thor (00:37 a.m)**

_It will get worse if I fail._

 

He knows it’s far from a healthy thing to do but he literally cannot break down now. He can’t let this happen at work.

Although, at home—

Yeah. He needs to let go here. He’s allowed to, between these walls of his that separate him from this hell he has found himself in.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Sat Nov 18, 2017, 01:01 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_Do you ever feel out of place? Do you ever feel like the biggest asshole on earth? Because I am._

Thor shakes his head as he reads his message again.

“So much self-pity, Jesus Christ,” and he erases everything, wonders if it’s the right thing to do. Maybe he shouldn’t be sending his friend a message now when he’s so sensitive and full of emotions he can’t put a finger on.

Jane had told him many times to write, whether it was on his laptop or in a notebook, as long as Thor wrote something and let go of some of his pains through writing.

Laying back against the couch, Thor rests his head and thinks for a moment before standing up, startling Fenrir in the process. A few notebooks are stacked in the drawers of his desk and he takes one with a simple black cover out, grabs a pen his mother had given him for his 21st birthday and heads back to the couch where he plops down and starts writing.

It’s a furious process, almost carnal; it digs into his flesh and bones until he can’t feel anything anymore, just words and letters melting into one another, blurry, inked and turning into a puddle of indistinct faces.

 _I fucked up. Why do I always fuck up? What happened to me that ended up making me become the worst version of myself? I already have the_ _answer: my father._

_I should really go to therapy and deal with this with someone qualified, but I’m so afraid of doing so because I’m scared of failure. I know I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but I can’t help it. I would hate to be the failure of the family, the disappointment, the boy who can’t even open a bookstore while his sister is so much more successful and more beautiful and just so much more in general._

_It’s not even about Angela._ _I kind of like her?_ _I don’t hate her. I’m actually proud of her success. I just didn’t grow up with her and don’t know her that well. I don’t even know what her favourite wine is or what she likes eating the most._

_Everything? This fucking mess, it’s not about her. It’s about dad. All of this is. It’s all about him and his idea of perfection that has fucked me up from the very beginning. At least I had mum before. I hate that she’s gone and that I can’t tell her about all of this._

_It wouldn’t have happened if she was still around. If that fucking car hadn’t killed her, she would still be here and dad wouldn’t be a remarried asshole with deep issues. I’m so unfair but it’s not like my dad gives me the best examples in life, I must say. I’m tired and angry and upset. I hurt someone_ _very gentle_ _who has a good heart and who pursues his dreams, unlike like me. Loki didn’t deserve any of the words I threw at him tonight. He didn’t deserve anything this violent and yet, here I am. I was harsh and terrible and horrible. I can’t believe myself. I’m not this person. Well. That’s what I like to believe, but maybe I’m just an asshole._

_Maybe I’m just an asshole._

_Fuck._

_I don’t wanna be an asshole._

_I need to be better than this, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be a better man._

**_x x x_ **

As he comes home, Loki reaches up and tugs the band from his hair, letting it fall in loose black curls around his shoulders. He shakes himself off like a dog at the entryway of his apartment before scraping off his boots.

“What a fucking night,” he breathes out, his voice echoing off the walls, the limp necks of the flowers Hela had left there a few days ago staring back at him.

The tickling in the back of Loki’s throat becomes quickly unbearable, as well as the tossing and turning in bed.

It’s something Loki has never been good at, sleeping. Started because of the fear he’d always go to bed with, of waking to find his father poised above him with his own belt, his eyes burning holes in his Loki’s skin. Now, surviving means forgetting and trying to build steps out of thin air.

How long did he think he could run away from his trauma, pretending he was fine and not a bag of fostered years and ridiculous, poisonous flashbacks?

He grasps his own wrist and flexes his fingers absently, shadows licking at the walls. He exhales slowly. All of a sudden, Loki misses listening to his mother’s descriptions of the sunsets in early July back in England. It’s the only thought that seems to make sense in his head at the moment for a reason he cannot fathom but is too tired to understand. He allows it to flow in his mind and brushes a hand upon the wings of his collarbones. They are standing stark against his skin and he feels the depression and hills there.

No more scars, at least. They healed easily, there, and that’s a relief.

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he draws his legs into his chest, hugs his arms around his calves and stares into the void for a while, hair unbrushed and unwashed, exhausted out of his bones; he doesn’t care. Not tonight. Not when breathing becomes a chore and his stomach has hollowed itself in distress. Not when memories haunt him and seep quietly underneath his eyes.

He had hoped, and that led him astray again. But that’s the trick with hope: it settles in your bones and the more it grows, feeding on life, the more desperate you are to keep it safe.

Until it crumbles, that is.

 _Awful things have their own kind of beauty,_ he read once, and he keeps thinking about it now. _What kind of bullshit is that?_ He asks himself angrily. His pain is nothing of beauty. Why did he hide _who_ _he was_ inside the stories of _what he did_?

Loki touches the spot on his neck that makes him shudder when brushed or kissed and blushes, thinking, his pulse still thrumming in his ears; he blinks rapidly and his eyes come alert, a slap back to reality, steadying himself with deep breaths.

He picks himself up. He has to, for the sake of rising above the surface, to keep himself there. Alive. He owes it to his mother, to Hela. To himself. He is joyful and believes in good things, in seeing the optimistic side of the world bloom.

Moonlight sleeps quietly beneath New York’s grey smog when determination hits him again.

**_x x x_ **

He wakes up again a couple of hours later to the sound of a new notification.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Sat Nov 18, 2017, 3:52 a.m_

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I wonder what you think about me. I wonder if you’d like talking to me in real life because I don’t think that I appear as cool or as nice in reality. I have all these secret hateful parts to my personality and you would hate them so much._

_You probably don’t know what I’m talking about and it’s alright. All I’m saying is: don’t think too highly of me because I am a disappointment._

“What the hell,” Loki mumbles in his pillow, Leia curled up warmly against the small of his back. His phone is staring back at him and question marks spring up from nowhere in Loki’s mind. What the hell is his friend talking about? What is it with the sudden negative vibes and thoughts?

He doesn’t think he’s dreamt much over the past few days, much less slept peacefully, waking up and falling back asleep erratically; though, right now, Loki can’t bring himself to find sleep again with words like these stuck beneath his burning skin.  

He stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck before burying his face deeper into his blankets and pillows, thinking of a reply to this very alarming message.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Sat Nov 18, 2017, 4:37 a.m_

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_What is it with all these negative thoughts? And what is it that makes you think I think highly of you in the first place?_

_Joke aside, your message worried me. I know we have a no-personal-info policy but I can’t help wondering about your well-being._

_Something obviously happened to make you feel like this (or maybe not, and it’s okay, too!). If you ever feel like sharing a little of that burden, I will be all ears._

_Please stop worrying about flaws. While I get your anxiety regarding this matter, it’s alright and we can’t exactly fight them (maybe just “correct” them a little so they’re a little less invasive depending on the case?). Sleep more and enjoy your weekend before going back to work on Monday. Read yourself some Bonnefoy, or perhaps check out a fun tv show like Friends, or… do something. See someone? I think it will help. I know it’s easy for me to say, but I believe you are much too hard on yourself. Despite never seeing you, I know that you’re not the hateful spite you described there. Nobody’s perfect. We learn with mistakes. It’s a bad moment and it will pass._

_Take care of yourself._

**_x x x_ **

Opening day for Odinson Books’ new store means _eating-anything-will-make-me-throw-up_ day to Thor, so he decides to only get coffee on that cold day of November, and even that tastes like plastic.

“I’m never letting you out of my supervision on an opening day ever again,” Heimdall says, deadpan, as he grabs Thor’s fifth Starbucks cup of coffee and pushes a granola bar in his hand instead.

Thor whines. “You know how anxious I get about these. I can’t stomach anything until we close for the night.”

“I know, but we are going to have to change these habits or you will die on me one day and your father will sue me for failing to assist you. _Eat_.”

“Alright,” Thor murmurs, glancing down at the bar in his hand and sighing. If eating was a challenge today, at least it was one he was willing to tackle, unlike going to say hi to Loki and trying to talk about what had happened the other day at Bucky’s book launch party.

As he munches on the bar, Thor takes a look around and feels that pang of happiness at seeing his store coming together at last. The inside is beautiful, soft clear brown tones mixed with warm grey and red armchairs to sit on, with round tables scattered for people to drink and read at. People are pressing on the other side of the shop where seven cashiers stand at their registers and smile back at customers who rushed to use the 35% coupon for the opening day.

Between the people and the books, the store is jam-packed.

Books everywhere. It doesn’t get better than this, Thor thinks to himself, and allows himself to smile for the first time that day.

That is, until his father and grandfather show up at the doors and decide it’s a good time to ruin his fragile peace of mind.

“Hello, father,” Thor smiles nervously, stuffing the last of his bar in his mouth. “Fancy what you see?”

“I have to admit,” Oding starts, “that your store looks good. That is a good choice of colours. I assume Heimdall picked them out?”

_Keep calm. Carry on. Smile. Fake it until you make it._

“I did, actually. Heimdall thought more of white walls, but I found that using browns and greys would bring out the whole “independent bookstore” aesthetic.”

Bor snorts. “Oh, that’s a good one, Thor. We’re going to crush them. The neighbourhood loves us already.”

They end up walking through the store to admire it, Odin commenting on things here and there but Thor keeps his calm through it all, Heimdall following them in their tracks and winking at him from time to time.

Odin stops at the children’s section and turns around to look at Thor. “How’s this section going?”

Thor scowls, and tugs his waistcoat back into place— just in case. “School isn’t out yet.”

He keeps his answers short and precise; concise. He doesn’t want to give his father anything else than what is here, out in the open.

“I see,” his father replies quietly and goes on with his inspection of the whole store.

At 8, Heimdall knocks on the door of the office Thor for himself at the bookstore and stares down at him with his golden eyes.

“You should go home,” he tells him. “It’s getting late and nobody’s here anymore.”

Thor nods, pushes a file closed. “I promise I will. I just have a few things to finish here, then I’ll be out.”

What he doesn’t expect is Brunnhilde rushing into his office a few minutes after Heimdall has left, eyes wide and panicked.

He frowns. “What’s wrong? Did someone die?”

“Boss, I need—I need some advice.”

**_x x x_ **

That night, he stumbles into Loki as he turns around the corner and starts walking home after having locked the store, Brunnhilde out of his sight quicker than he had expected. She had simply thanked him and waved at him before heading home, head full of new perspectives and ideas thanks to their talking and processing a situation that could rapidly backfire.

_Don’t lie. Don’t keep lying to that woman or this will end badly. She deserves to know the truth or she will think that you are playing with her feelings._

He had seen it first hand.

He needs to make it right to Loki. He simply needs to.

Thor reaches out for Loki’s arm when he sees him in order to keep the other man in place because he has a feeling this won’t be this easy, that Loki will probably try to escape. “Loki, hi, wait—”

And he’s right.

Loki shakes his arm out of Thor’s grasp quickly and frowns, almost disgusted. Pain swells in the hollow of Thor’s chest at that.

“Mr. Odinson,” and oh, it stings, it fucking _stings_  the way it resonates through Thor, “I don’t want to talk to you. Please leave me alone.”

Thor’s face falls in understanding.

Loki is angry at him. That’s only fair after what happened.

**_x x x_ **

What does this man want? Is it not enough that he has humiliated Loki in public and then put his bookstore to shame within the first day of Odinson Books opening? Is it not enough to torture him like this? Why did he have to come all the way down to the corner and be there when Loki locked up the door?

_Why?_

He needs a cigarette and a beer. Two beers, or three.

An _entire_ pack, actually.

He hums quietly and runs his eyes over him all over again. He both loves and loathes his sight. The air is definitely too thin to inhale, too cold and too sharp. He wants to be home as soon as possible, Leia on his lap and books crushing his soul into numbness to forget about today and the news of having made 1200$ less this week than last year’s. The store is definitely going to go under at that rate.

_“We’re gonna fold if this keeps happening,” Sif says, gloomy. “I can’t believe it. How am I going to pay rent?”_

_“Asking myself the same thing,” Clunt grunts._

_Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily, trying to steady himself in the midst of this raging storm. He allows himself to believe the few words he had uttered to Natasha this morning—”We’re fine! Not gonna go under. Please do your next signing here!”—because she is one of their most trusted authors and has always supported the shop. “We’re not gonna fold and you’re gonna keep paying rent. Period. Now go back to arranging the shelves, we need everything ready for Thanksgiving.”_

“Can you move? I want to go home.”

“Oh, right,” Thor says and steps to the side. He doesn’t even _try_ and that angers Loki even more. Who does this man think he is?

There’s nothing else to add, and so Loki shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat and buries his face deeper into his scarf, the soles of his boots scraping against the dirty pavement.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Thor’s voice comes up in the air, somehow distant but close still.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Loki mumbles as he keeps walking in the path in front of him, remembering the unpleasant encounters he had to go through lately, pretending not to see Thor at Starbucks in the morning or while buying the newspaper at lunch. “I wonder why.”

Once again, Thor tries to stop him, walking fast behind Loki and reaching out for his arm, but Loki whips around and pushes him away; he hears the faint rumble of anger growing in the back of his mind and it is not good, really not good at all.

“Can you stop following me? I’ll call the police on your ass if you keep going,” he tries, but Thor isn’t letting go, and something latches inside of him, something crimson and thorny and dripping with rage. “I have _work to do,_ ” Loki says, mechanical and cold. _I have work to do,_ as if it were the answer to all these questions that keep stumbling into his mind and sending his brain reeling. _I have work to do and hours to spend trying to forget your stupid face._

“Loki—”

“Look, you’ve had your fun, great for you, but now’s time to let go of your new toy,” Loki finally snaps. “You had what you wanted: my bookstore is probably going to close down, I’m gonna fire people and I won’t have a job anymore. The street will be all yours! Wonderful! What else could you possibly want from me? If you have regrets, please allow me to laugh because that can’t be true. Now, will you please leave me alone? I want to go home and drink a whole bottle of wine.”

The way he glares at the blond man is a bullet straight through his heart; it’s enough for Thor to release his strong hold—too strong, _way too strong_ , why did he do that—on Loki’s arm and before he has a chance to apologise, Loki is gone in the shadows of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me in the comments or on tumblr! Reviews are much appreciated if you feel like it <3
> 
> angryzilla.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you end up killed, I don’t want to be held responsible,” Clint mumbles and shoves another bit of sandwich in his mouth before sipping on his lemonade. “Please keep your phone close.”
> 
> “You’re so fucking dramatic,” Sif says, rolling her eyes, “Loki is old enough to be careful. You gotta push yourself forward if you want things, sometimes, like I did with Brunnhilde.”
> 
> “He doesn’t even know this dude’s name!”
> 
> “And that’s my problem,” Loki grunts from behind a shelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! 8k for this one. Some important things happening... I hope you will enjoy it!
> 
> As usual, thank you _so much_ for your likes, reblogs, comments and kudos. I can't stress enough how much it means to me to see this fic so well-loved and received. You guys are stellar!

The automatic sliding doors part for Loki and his lungs burn from the sudden rush of anxiety, air seemingly growing thick around him.

_So many people. Why did he think it was a good idea to go shopping on Thanksgiving?_

The beeps of the registers are already giving him a headache.

Well. It’s not like he has a choice, right? He needs to power through.

Face tight, he wheels his cart into the supermarket and goes through the mental map of it that he knows by heart.

He breathes— _one two three one two three_ —and tries to wedge his way into the crowd that is stuck near the fruits displays, one hand on the front corner of the cart, gripping it tightly so he can anchor himself to something. Anything will do; so the cart does the trick.

“Just need…” he mumbles to himself as he shoves his list back inside the warmth of his coat pocket. He reaches out for the apples on display, trying to mentally add up how much he needs for the applesauce he is going to make.

Behind it, Thor’s mop of disheveled, fair hair waves back at him.

“... a few apples,” and the words die down on his tongue at the sight.

_Fuck this. Why is he here? And why is he always this—this—this distracting? And handsome?_

Loki stands there frozen for a while, people grumbling at him to move if he is done picking his apples, but he can’t exactly hear them when all that his ears register is the sound of his heartbeat going crazy.

Another beat and he finds himself back in motion. Cranes his neck, squints and scans the whole area, scrutinizes the selection of fresh vegetables and bags of potatoes.

No Thor.

Did he dream it?

That’s what he tells himself until their paths almost cross again while Loki puts cranberry sauce in his cart and notices the curve of a back he has seen before.

Panicking again means that he doesn’t care much for anyone outside this man and he slides into the shortest waiting line. Never mind the things he didn’t buy—they will do without. He wants to be done and over with this fucking twist of fate and go home to his family instead of playing games with his own mind.

It doesn’t get any better as the line advances and Loki realises it is a _Cash Only_ line.

He doesn’t have any cash on him, only his credit card.

 _If you are punishing me for something, I don’t think I’m worth this much hatred,_ he sighs to the sky above, not really knowing who he’s addressing but doing it nonetheless. _Why did you make this man so handsome but also an asshole? It's unfair!_

“I don’t have any cash,” he tells the cashier who frowns.

“This is a Cash Only line, sir.”

Loki licks his lips. “I didn’t see, I’m sorry.”

“There’s a sign,” someone behind him grunts, “you’d have to be blind not to see it.”

Someone else mutters a quiet “annoying” to his left and Loki has to clear his throat and breathe not to lash out on anyone.

“You shouldn’t be in this line, then,” the cashier tells him, deadpan. “Next.”

Right at that moment, Thor turns his head to him, wondering what the fuss is about, and spots Loki. He’s only carrying a small basket in which he has dumped a few things; at least, out of the two them, Thor thought about shopping in advance for Thanksgiving and was probably just buying last-minute additions to his dinner.

This asshole has the audacity to _smile_.

_He’s fucking smiling._

Loki is going to lose it.

“Hi,” Thor says, raising a brow. “Do you need money?”

Loki glances down at his list to double check, just in case; just to avoid this situation if only for a few seconds. He thinks of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and pies, all of his favourites, the creamy orange texture of the pumpkin swelling on top of the soft-baked crust—

This doesn’t even work.

_Fuck me._

“Hello. No, I don’t need money. Thanks,” he replies quietly, starting to gather his goods back into his cart to change lines.

“Wait,” Thor stops him, making a spark of anxiety rush back to the surface of Loki’s neck. “Jessica. That’s your name, right?” he asks the cashier, who nods back at him. Thor hums, doesn’t bat an eye as he keeps talking. “I’m Thor, this is Loki, and he needs to go back home quickly. You’ve got a credit card machine just there.” He points at the black machine whose edges stare back at Loki in disbelief. “Right. Excellent. Take his card and we’ll be done. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Loki can’t believe how obnoxious this man is.

_Can’t fucking believe it. And he’s so effortlessly charming, on top of that. Who allowed this?_

“Who do you think you are, exactly?” he blurts out, unable to keep the lid on his anger anymore, clenching his fists around the cart handle.

“Your saviour,” Thor replies unironically. “Now pay for your groceries and unclutter the line or people will end up slicing your throat and have it in place of turkey.”

That asshole, _that fucking asshole smiles again._ Loki hates that he both wants to kiss him _and_ punch him.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Loki,” Thor dares to tell him when he disappears after having paid for his few items, retrieving his final can on the belt, eyes crinkling with something Loki doesn’t have a name for.

**_x x x_ **

Loki gets drunk that night, and everyone gets to witness it.

Brunnhilde definitely finds him charming like that.

The slight beginning of her smile drops suddenly when Hela walks toward her with her glass of wine in hand, lips a bright shade of crimson.

“How’s the evening going for you?” she asks gently, watching the younger woman tap on her phone quickly and shoving it back in the pocket of her jeans.

**Boss (10:03 p.m.)**

_I hate this dinner. Angela’s here. It’s not going well._

Brunnhilde tenses up.

“Good,” she replies simply with a nervous smile. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. I really appreciate everything.”

“It’s not much,” Hela says and waves her hand before taking a sip of red wine. “Am I making you uncomfortable? You always look terrified when you see me.”

She stops laughing as her stomach flips and looks at her silver shoes. “It’s not—it’s nothing. You’re a little intimidating, that’s all.”

**Boss (10:09 p.m.)**

_She just insulted me. Like. In a very Angela way. But she just insulted me. I can’t believe it._

_Anyway. How’s your evening going? Have you told Sif?_

A wave of nausea licks at Brunnhilde’s throat at the idea of letting Sif know; she can’t know. She can’t know that she works for Thor and that she’s actively participating in the life of the bookstore that is trying to ruin Loki’s own. That would be such a dick move to tell her now.

“I LOVE YOU ALL,” Loki shouts behind Brunnhilde, a glass of champagne in one hand, a slice of pecan pie in the other. She looks up, puzzled, and sees the ghost of happiness in Loki’s spirit, the gentle warmth of wine in his pink features. Being drunk makes him so much freer. He’s nothing but giddiness, now.

**_x x x_ **

Running a hand through his dark locks, Loki leans into the wall behind him and stares at the decorations he has just put together for the shop. Little lights are twinkling all around the main entrance, spiraling in sparks of warm reds and oranges and casting bright shadows upon the books on display. He put on a plastic tree by the entrance and another one further into the bookstore, both of them dressed with metallic shades of gold and frosty blue and a big star on top.

The bookstore is dimly lit, the light a cozy pink-orange, and Loki finds that he likes it a lot that way. It’s so quiet but so gentle, too, and he can’t stop thinking that his mother would have loved it if she were still alive.

It also happens to soothe the dull ache between his ribs, the one that has settled there this morning as he walked by Odinson Books and realised there was a poster taped on the glass windows with Natasha’s smiling face staring back at him. In bold red letters read _Book Signing on January 12 with New York Times Best Selling Author Natasha Romanoff, 11 a.m._

_So you went to them too, Nat? Fuck._

He throws a glance outside as people pass by and he realises they’re carrying Odinson Books bags; he can’t help being bitter about it, the emerald green ornaments in his hands suddenly weighing so much more than he thought.

**_x x x_ **

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Fri Dec 7 2017, 12:14 a.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_What does Christmas remind you of?_

_I can’t stop thinking about my mother, lately. I miss the things we used to do together, such as Christmas shopping on the East side, baking gingerbread cookies in a rush or going skating at Rockefeller Center. I never really like Christmas as a kid, at least until my parents divorced._

_I hate my dad. I don’t know if I told you. I don’t think so. But I hate him. I really do. He’s an asshole, for a lack of a better word, and Christmas sometimes reminds me of him because he was especially harsh on my sister and me around that time, physically and verbally. I don’t want to talk further about any details, but I think you can get the whole picture, I guess._

_She’s been dead for ten years and I miss her like no tomorrow, even more than usual because I need advice, this year. She always knew what to do, and here I am, at a loss for words and actions._

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Fri Dec 7 2017, 02:41 p.m._

_Re: What about Bonnefoy?_

_Dear friend,_

_I am sorry to hear about your mother and I am angry about your father. I wish there was something I could do to help you out on these matters, but I don’t know what this could be._

_I lost my mother a few years ago, too, so I understand missing her fiercely, especially around the time of Christmas. Before it happened, Christmas reminded me of hot chocolate near the fireplace, frosty snow and pumpkin butter. Now it’s pretty much only something that brings me back to a cold, damp, unwelcoming place of sadness. I don’t really get along with my step-sister and my father has the emotional range of a spoon, which is still nice too of me to say. When my mother died in a car accident, he just told me around dinner and that was it. Life went on._

_It didn’t, at least for me. My mother was always very optimistic and warm and cheerful. She was so wise, but also so funny. I guess I take this from her? I tend to deflect bullets and negative life events that way. It’s a shield, a protection. It’s easy to hide behind that, and maybe I shouldn’t. Who cares._

_Anyway, what do you need help with, dear friend? I know we said no specifics, but if I can try to lend you a hand, I’d be more than happy to do so._

Loki sighs against his hand, laptop propped up on his lap in bed and Leia purring at his feet.

As he starts typing a reply, a grey window pops up suddenly on his screen to interrupt him, flashing a message from _pirateangel_.

**pirateangel (10:39 p.m.)**

_They introduced a new feature on the forum! We can now chat online and I saw you were there. Hi!_

Something clenches in his stomach—a delightful pang of happiness mixed up with the gloomy mood he’s been on all day.

**agent_of_asgard (10:40 p.m.)**

_Oh, that’s amazing! Hello. It feels weird to talk to you “in real time.”_

**pirateangel (10:40 p.m.)**

_I know, ahaha. Same here. So what do you need help with, dear friend? I can give you advice! I’m great at advice._

Loki chuckles and smiles fondly while shaking his head, even though his friend obviously can’t see him.

**agent_of_asgard (10:41 p.m.)**

_I don’t think you can help, but thank you. I appreciate it._

**pirateangel (10:41 p.m.)**

_Is it about love? Did you fall for someone you shouldn’t?_

**agent_of_asgard (10:42 p.m.)**

_My business is in trouble, actually. My mother was great at handling and tackling all sorts of problems, hence why I am missing her more than usual lately._

**pirateangel (10:42 p.m.)**

_I’m a brilliant businessman, I can help you! Tell me what it’s all about. What’s your business, dear friend?_

**agent_of_asgard (10:42 p.m.)**

_As much as I appreciate you trying to help, we said no specifics, remember? I can’t tell you._

**pirateangel (10:42 p.m.)**

_Well, it will be hard to help, then. I can only say, go to the mattresses._

**agent_of_asgard (10:43 p.m.)**

_What?_

**pirateangel (10:43 p.m.)**

_It’s from_ The Godfather _. I believe it can help you because that’s solid advice, actually. It means that you have to go to war and fight for your meal._

Loki frowns.

What is it with people and citing odd quotes from films like _The Godfather_ or _A Space Odyssey_ unironically?

**pirateangel (10:45 p.m.)**

_You’re at war, my friend. It’s nothing personal, it’s just business, and you need to remember this, especially when you feel like you are about to lose your nerve. This is your chance. Be brave, fight till the end. Fight to the death._

**agent_of_asgard (10:45 p.m.)**

_I think you’re right._

**pirateangel (10:45 p.m.)**

_Actually, I am, friend. ;)_

_Ok, no joke but please fight. Keep your business!_

_I need to go, my best friend is here. Have a good evening, dear friend._

Before Loki can write something back, _pirateangel_ has already logged off. He’s a little frustrated about it but the smile that lingers on his lips makes it all better.

**Loki (10:50 p.m.)**

_Sigyn, I think I’m going to go to the mattresses._

_Do you think it would be okay to write an article about the bookstore?_

**_x x x_ **

_If you know New York a little, you probably have heard of The Shop Around The Corner where Loki Laufeyson and his sister Hela Laufeyson have kept up the legacy of their late mother Farbauti. Essential to the streets it still lives on, it would be a shame to see it go because Odinson Books decided to put up a shop right next to them._

_Save The Shop Around The Corner! Go shop local at your independent bookstore!_

Loki finishes reading the blog article with a quiet, gentle smile, Hela looking at it over his shoulder.

“Sigyn, that’s such a lovely article you wrote. Thank you so much!”

Sigyn smirks and turns around to glance at the shop. “Looks like it worked. See how many people there are? I’m glad.”

“CNN is here!” Clint yells from outside, throwing his hands in the air before folding them across his chest to keep himself calm.

A shiver runs through Loki’s body as he takes a deep breath. Hela smiles at him and brushes a curl from her little brother’s forehead, tender and confident.

“Go slay Odinson Books, little brother.”

Outside, a woman with short blond hair and a red blouse is talking with Clint; her entire face lights up when she spots Loki walking toward them.

“Hi! I’m Carol Danvers,” she says brightly while extending her arm.

Loki smiles back at her and shakes her hand softly. “Hello. Loki Laufeyson.”

“I used to go to your bookstore when I was a kid,” she starts explaining. “Your mother was still here. She was amazing.”

The sun shines bright behind them and Loki offers the journalist another smile, genuinely touched by her words.

“We can start the interview whenever you’re ready.”

_Breathe. Breathe. You can do it. Show them what you’re made of._

“I’m ready,” Loki says, shoulders straight.

Carol signals to the TV crew that they’re ready and starts talking as Loki tries his best not to shift too much.

“We’re in front of the Shop Around the Corner where so many of us have grown. It’s on the verge of closing because of the pressure from Odinson Books, whose store has opened a few feet away with the promise of cheap books and coffee.”

Loki nods and prepares his words as Carol hands him the mic. “Odinson Books is a machine trying to crush anything in its way. You’ve probably heard many stories of independent bookstores going under because of the methods these chains use: so please don’t turn a blind eye on us this time.”

**_x x x_ **

From his office, Thor grimaces, Heimdall sitting by his side.

“He’s not as nice as he seems,” he grumbles. He plays with a pen before starting to gnaw on the tip, anxiety running freely in his veins.

“You’ve met him?” Heimdall asks with an arched brow.

Thor nods and rolls his eyes, picking up a book lying on his desk and turning to a random page. “It’s kind of a long story. He’s—” and he has to stop himself to clear his throat. Who cares, he can go ahead with the thought. “He’s attractive but full of himself.”

“But you don’t feel bad about the fact that you’re destroying his livelihood and the shop his mother put together by herself?” Heimdall asks and gestures at the TV screen.

“It’s not personal—”

“—It’s business. I know. Still.”

Thor’s own face appears on the television and he can’t help gasping audibly at it, reading the title unfolding in soft blues and greens— _Thor Odinson, Vice-President of Odinson Books._ _  
_

“I sell cheap books so that people can buy more books. It’s only logical. Sue me for that if you want or cry about Laufeyson’s shop, but cheap books aren’t a bad thing.”

Heimdall’s eyes widen with a quirk of his eyebrow. “That’s what you said?”

Thor’s heart leaps in his chest. “I said so much more! They—they manipulated what I said! I offered them coffee and showed them that people could sit and read for hours because we have so many titles in store. They completely cut through what I said! I was eloquent and they’re trying to pin me as the bad guy while Loki is the damsel in distress—”

“It’s inevitable, Thor.”

In the background, Loki’s voice rises, tickling the back of Thor’s neck and making him wince.

“I’ve met Thor Odinson and I can tell you, this man can be pretty twisted as far as protecting his business goes.”

Heimdall pauses, gives Thor another strange smile and says, “Oof, that’s harsh.”

The camera focuses on a rally taking place in front of Odinson Books’ store and Thor goes up to the window. Bracing himself, he looks around the corner and watches little kids chanting “Off with Odinson Books! We don’t want Odinson Books!” on the pavement below, holding up signs with Odinson Books stricken in bold red marker.

His mind goes blank and he freezes for a long time, unable to be put back in motion.

“Can this day be over already?” he ends up whining behind the shutters that cast long brown shadows upon his tired face, heart still beating worryingly fast.

**_x x x_ **

They’re about to flip the vintage “closed” sign and close the shop when Hela emerges from the backroom where Loki’s office is, frown in place and lines of worry etched into her face.

“Loki,” she calls from the door, interrupting his conversation with Sif and Clint about _Citizen Kane,_ “can you come over for a second?”

Loki nods and straightens his back from where he has been leaning into the shelves before following his sister to his office with dread weighing heavily in his stomach.

It only takes a second of Hela staring up at him for him to understand.

“Don’t tell me. No difference at all?”

She opens her mouth to reply but no sound comes out of it. Instead, she sighs and puts the sheets before her in order.

“It didn’t work. I can’t understand why, but it didn’t. I’m sorry, brother, but now… except closing the store, I really have no clue what to do.” A look of understanding crosses his face as he closes his hand gently over her pale fingers.

Long arms engulf Loki in a tight hug before he can say anything; he drinks in the warmth of her body without shedding a tear for the sake of appearing strong, so that Hela’s fears will sleep for tonight so that Loki’s demons won’t wake up in light of the news.

Hela leaves soon after that despite her protesting that Loki should come at hers for dinner, that it wouldn’t be good for him to be home alone and dwelling on his own thoughts about the future of the shop. He shrugs it off with a smile, sending Hela on her way out and once she is out of sight, Loki starts crying.

He cries until his face goes numb and his fingers shake so hard he can’t even grab a tissue, until the files on his desk are scattered with drops of salty tears, until the ink caught in these rivers smudges, until his heart crashes against his chest and tumbles into his throat; until Loki has run out of tears to shed and heartache to spare.

How could he do this to his mother? To Hela, to Sif, to Clint, to his long-time customers? How did it end up like this? It wasn’t supposed to _end_. Not like this. Not in tears, but only because Loki had passed on the store and left it in good hands.

He tucks some of his disheveled black hair behind his ear and forces himself out of his comatose state, eyes so red and puffy he has trouble blinking himself back to reality.

His fingers close gently around the necklace around his neck; he brushes the warm gold there, presses it to his lips and promises himself that it would only be a beginning, not an end. Loki owes it to his mother, no matter how much he wants to give up right now, no matter how harshly the world has been pressing against him lately.

It’s past nine o’clock when he leaves the backroom and crosses the narrow store in a few quick strides; the sky has turned a mellow kind of blue-gray, barely lit by the streetlamps, and it’s only once he’s outside that Loki realises it has started raining.

“Shit,” he mutters and pats his pockets and his tote bag for his umbrella, remembering it neatly folded and waiting patiently on a shelf at home. “Just my luck to add to this goddamn day,” he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Need a ride home?”

Loki’s heart shudders at the voice that cracks in his ears.

“Thor,” he murmurs under his breath as his green eyes wash over the other man’s large frame. Thor is wearing a three-piece-suit and a nice black coat over it, a dark red scarf that looks as soft as feathers and, most of all, he has a big umbrella. “H—hi.”

It’s becoming a habit to stumble upon Thor when getting out of work.

Weirdly, Loki… doesn’t _hate it entirely._

Not _too much._ But still. He hates it _a little._

Loki suddenly can’t help the way his fingers flex and shake around the keys in his hands and he can’t help the way his heart-rate keeps speeding up and up _and up._ All decent thoughts seem to leave his brain and he’s left with nothing but a gasp as an addition to his greeting.

On the bright side, Thor doesn’t appear angry or in any kind of negative mood; rather, he is smiling at Loki and the moment their eyes meet, he winks at him.

“I don’t mind walking you home. You had a big day, it would be stupid to catch a cold to finish it off.”

“How can you be so calm about it?” Loki asks in a rush. The growing pace of rainfall makes him nervous, his eyes going back and forth between the road behind Thor’s broad back and the pavement they are standing on.

After a moment of stretched silence, Thor sighs and looks away—anywhere but at Loki. “I can’t be mad at you for fighting for your business, can I? I’m not exactly a prime example anyway.”

“But I wasn’t exactly—”

“ _—Nice_?”

Loki swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

A chuckle and Thor throws him a bemused glance. “It’s only fair after what I did, I guess.”

“It was on live television,” Loki retorts, and fuck, _why_ is he defending Thor when the man is taking the blame himself and not because Loki forced him to do so? “I didn’t mean—”

Thor shakes his head. “Loki. Stop. I deserved it. While it hurts because I’m a human being and my feelings do exist, I can’t blame you for showing your teeth and going at it. Now,” and he reaches out for Loki with his hand extended, “do you want me to walk you home?”

 _Why is this man not mad at me?_ Loki asks himself on repeat for a solid five minutes before he makes an extra effort to catch Thor’s eye. He raises his eyebrows at Thor’s hand but accepts the invitation, walking over to stand at Thor’s side under the large umbrella.

They start walking in silence with only the sound of rain against the taut waterproof fabric and falling quickly on the asphalt.

“Are you okay?” Thor asks after a while and that startles Loki more than he would have liked, the worry in Thor’s tone a warm sunset that slips in and out his skin.

He turns to the side to glance at the other man whose eyes are still stuck on him with both curiosity and worry. It is one of the weirdest things Loki has witnessed lately: how come _his rival_ and _the_ _one person_ to put him out of business is worried about his well-being?

“I’m fine,” he lies easily. There’s a weird ache in his bones that seeps in his veins like sap through branches of trees, like oxygen traveling through rivers.

Somehow, he has a feeling Thor won’t be convinced that easily—and he’s right.

Thor frowns. “No, you’re not. You’ve been crying.”

There is a pause in which Loki feels his courage dissolve, only for his anger to burn even brighter.

“Excellent deduction,” Loki groans. Fucking puffy eyes and the circles underneath them. They definitely betrayed him. “Where did you learn these skills? Read too much Sherlock Holmes as a kid? I mean, if you read at all.”

“Are you always this snappy and hostile to new people, or is it just me?”

Everything is red, just for a second, and Loki is trying to keep calm, to keep breathing, to keep pretending he has a grasp upon himself and his ferocious emotions.

“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to spend time with the man who is putting me out business and making me lose the shop my mother put together by herself?” Loki exclaims, his voice breaking nearly into a shout. “What is it with you and your savior complex? _You_ created this situation!”

What does Thor think? That because they had shared a moment the first time they had met at that Starbucks, it meant they would do something about it?

He has to fight harder than he expects to keep his voice calm. He doesn’t want to start fighting with Thor in the middle of the street. He had seen it already and it was enough; more than enough.

Instead, Loki sighs and rubs at his forehead.

_Why is this man looking so good? I want to hate him so hard but I can’t manage it._

“Loki, I’m sorry,” Thor manages to let out,  his tone curiously flat. “I can’t undo what I did, but I can try to fix some of the broken pieces if you let me.”

“No,” Loki snaps and bites out as his voice rises dangerously high, tears burning his eyes. “ _No_. You don’t get to steal my toy, break it and ask me if it’s okay to fix it together now that you’ve had your fun. I don’t want your apologies or pity.”

He pushes himself away from Thor and welcomes the rain in his hair with a sigh of relief, walking away quickly.

Thor stares at him, or at the evening sky, or the fucking blinking lights, Loki doesn’t know, and takes a few steps back, taking the hint.

This time, Thor doesn’t try to stop him.

The rain soaks Loki to the bone on his way home, which happens to be a good thing so that Loki doesn’t have to worry about the tears biting at his cheeks while walking to his flat, cheeks red from the lack of air.

**_x x x_ **

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Fri Dec 12 2017, 11:09 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_Do you still want to meet me?_

_I think I’m ready._

Seated on the edge of the bed, Loki exhales heavily and pushes the “enter” button on his keyboard. Maybe he has failed to mend his own wounds, but something tells him that he should try to do something about pushing this man away. His hands can have that power, now, to clean the wreckage. And so the push of the key does it, the night sky quiet in its tracks.

There. Done. His message in the wild, lost to anxiety and interrogation but also new beginnings and excitement.

Everyone is a new story to discover, and maybe it was high time Loki found enough courage to seek his friend’s.

**_x x x_ **

“If you end up killed, I don’t want to be held responsible,” Clint mumbles and shoves another bit of sandwich in his mouth before sipping on his lemonade. “Please keep your phone close.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” Sif says, rolling her eyes, “Loki is old enough to be careful. You gotta push yourself forward if you want things, sometimes, like I did with Brunnhilde.”

“He doesn’t even know this dude’s name!”

“And that’s my problem,” Loki grunts from behind a shelf. He’s rearranging a bunch of new poetry books they have received this morning while picking at an apple here and there without really putting much thinking into it, munching and munching and munching until he swallows, reluctantly finishing each bite of food. He remains stubbornly cryptic, much to his friends’ annoyance, but it still elicits a small laugh from Clint. Loki glances at him under his lashes, just a quick stolen moment, feeling a little wrinkle in his brow.

Mechanical. He’s been like a robot today to avoid the rush of anxiety and excitement at the idea of finally meeting his dear _pirateangel_ tonight. He’d like to tell himself that he has nothing to lose; that he only has flesh and bones to carry and to show—however, his brain insists on carrying worry through his veins, which pushes Loki to busy himself enough to forget he has _a date._

Hell. It’s a date, right? Perhaps a friendly one, on the friendship side…

… But a date nonetheless.

Lord, who is he fooling?

It’s _definitely_ a romantic date.

_God, he needs to stop thinking._

**_x x x_ **

At the end of the corner around the street, Jane arches an eyebrow and brushes a hand through her bangs. “And where are you meeting him?”

“In a cafe,” Thor says around a mouthful of pizza that he hopes won’t stain his white shirt— _why the fuck did_  he chose to wear a white shirt today of all days is a mystery to him. “It has some excellent salted caramel cheesecake and I’m pretty sure he’s going to love it.”

“Maybe he prefers main dishes,” Jane adds, which earns her an eye roll from Thor. “What? That’s a possibility. Oh, and how are you going to know it’s _him_?”

Silence from Thor.

“Oh. Oh god, don’t tell me—”

“ _Jane_ ,” Thor grumbles. His dollar slice of pizza has smeared some tomato sauce on his bottom lip.

She stops in her tracks and punches his shoulder lightly. “A copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ and a rose, isn’t it?”

“No.” For a second, Jane’s smile falters as disappointment makes its way to her face, but Thor flushes heavily right after—she can count on the fingers of her _left_ hand the few times he has blushed since she has known him, which is pretty much _forever,_  and a giddy giggle escapes her, much to Thor’s annoyance. “No, actually, it will be a copy of _The Crooked Planks._ ”

**_x x x_ **

“You can do it,” Jane tells him gently, resting her fingers on Thor’s bearded jaw as they stand a few feet away from the cafe the date is supposed to happen in. Her eyes are crinkling in the light and with sparks of joy that make her best friend smile back, if only for a few seconds. The streets are aglow with nightlife, music and a few drunk people spilling their happiness and guts out on the pavement as they pass Thor and Jane.

“We’ll see about that—”

Jane shakes her head. “No. It will go fine, Thor. Worst case scenario, it’s an obnoxious asshole, and what? You can find so much better in that case, have you seen yourself? Hmm?”

That ends up making Thor laugh, at least.

“You’re something else,” he says with a chuckle and bends down to kiss her cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be having sad dates on Grindr,” she grins. “Now go!”

“Actually,” Thor smiles sheepishly and looks down at his polished shoes, “can you— can you take a look inside? I’m a total wreck, I just—”

“It’s alright,” and she squeezes his arm before making her way toward the large window pan of the cafe which is dimly lit in the December night. If Thor closes her eyes, he can almost smell the gingerbread cookies his mother used to make, the spices of the hot chocolate she sneaked in there to surprise Thor.

It grounds him, thinking of her right now, because this date…this date could change everything, could turn Thor’s life upside down. This man, this _agent_of_asgard_ had brought joy and hope into his monotonous life, and he now has the chance to meet him at last.

Red twinkling Christmas lights are casting a soft glow upon Jane’s face, catching the matte stain of brown lipstick along the curve of her lips; she squints, pushes her face deeper in the glass and gasps audibly.

Thor is suddenly seized by fear, his stomach dropping.

“What is it? Is he… ugly?”

Jane bites her lower lip. “No, he’s really pretty. Handsome. And he has the rose and the copy of _The Crooked Planks._ No, Thor, it’s—”

She frantically searches his eyes, and Thor frowns, unable to understand the sudden rush of confusion he sees there.

Jane exhales.

“Thor. The man in there is Loki Laufeyson,” she ends up blurting out.

Thor has to steady himself against the wall beside him. It scrapes at his cold hands through his gloves and he can feel the frost seeping into his veins.

 _Agent_of_asgard_ is Loki Laufeyson. His dear friend is _Loki Laufeyson._

The faceless man he has developed feelings for is Loki Laufeyson, the man he is putting out of business, the man who hates him beyond words and whom Thor has lied to.

_The man in there is Loki Laufeyson._

His tongue feels so dry that he almost chokes on it; he hates how it feels like the aftermath of being sick when your throat gets back together again and learns to swallow without violent coughing fits happening.

Sand. That’s all he can think about. Everything is sand right now: raspy on his tongue, crumbling and dripping one grain at a time between his fingers. A moment passes and there’s a fleeting thought in Thor’s mind that smashes all the hope he had quietly gathered in a hidden part of his brain; it murmurs harmful whispers and blood-soaked words and coats everything in deep crimson.

“I’m going home.”

“What? No, you can’t do that,” Jane exclaims, shaking her brown bangs out from her eyes, “he wrote the messages! You can’t just let him wait here!”

“But he’s Loki! And that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Thor lets out in a single breath with a savage bite to his sentence. “Goodnight, Jane. Thanks for coming with me but I really can’t do this.”

Trembling, Jane strides toward him and slaps him so hard he is sure to keep the red shape of her hands on his face, little crimson dots blotching all over his right cheek. “You can’t do that! What are you, a fucking coward? The Thor I know wouldn’t do something so low—”

“Maybe you don’t know me all that well, then,” Thor bites back. Something has definitely snapped inside of him and the bitterness on his tongue stings more than he'd like to admit; he regrets immediately his words as Jane’s face shifts into a painful, unguarded expression.

She shakes her head, features etched with a mix of worry and disappointment. She throws her hands up in the air before backing down and turning the other way without sparing a glance for Thor.

 _Great. Just great,_ Thor thinks to himself. _Now I’m alone to deal with this._

The wound and void are bigger than he had expected them to be; they are a fire that he can’t put out and has no idea how to handle as it grows and grows.

How is he supposed to go into this cafe and face Loki? How is he supposed to tell him he is _pirateangel_ , the man he has been having the deepest, most interesting discussions he has had in years with? How is he supposed to say, “I like you, would you like to keep this going?” without being rejected, slapped, screamed at?

He really should just leave and give up on this whole thing. There is no possible way for this situation to end well—the idea of a positive ending is so laughable that Thor can feel the tips of his fingers burning, his entire hands shaking.

**_x x x_ **

On the other side of the window, Loki’s leg bounces nervously against the laminate flooring.

_He’s late. Maybe he saw me and turned back? What happened? Did he regret coming here? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he have an accident?_

The knot in his stomach doesn’t fade; rather, it gets worse the moment his eyes lay upon the chair in front of him.

He is starting to feel a little foolish and the feeling of helplessness is really not welcome tonight. His tea has brewed for a little too long and the taste is almost bitter along Loki’s tongue, a reminder that his friend is not here yet and might never come.

“What a coincidence! Hi, Loki.”

Loki looks up at the man in front of him.

_What the hell?_

He pauses, slowly lowers the spoon back to his cup and feels dread spark through him. He sits in silence, drawing in a long breath before answering in a slow, steady voice that is frost incarnate, "Hi, Thor.”

A flash of a grin and perfect white teeth. _What an asshole,_ Loki thinks to himself. _Fucking gorgeous asshole, though._

“Do you mind if I sit there?” and Thor points at the chair in front of Loki, miserable and unoccupied.

Loki narrows his eyes at him, pulse shooting through the roof. “Yes, I mind. I’m expecting someone.

“You read Bonnefoy?” Thor dodges easily as his hand finds the worn-out book on the table and lifts it up to take a look at it.

“And what about it?”

Loki lifts himself from his chair enough to grab the book and put it back flat on the table with the rose on it, glaring daggers at Thor, whose smile only grows.

“I didn’t know you were interested in mysterious French poets. That’s so romantic, Paris, French, the language of love.”

“You really do think I’m a walking cliché,” Loki chuckles in annoyance. He shakes his head and brushes a hand upon his tired face. “Would you please leave, now? I’ve been waiting for someone and it certainly _isn’t_ you.”

This time, Thor sits down, breaks into the drowsy silence.

“Please don’t do that,” Loki groans.

“I’ll go away as soon as your friend arrives. Is he late?”

“Why does it interest you so much? Is it because you want to have a good laugh at my expense once again?”

“You would discover so many things if you really knew me, Loki.”

Loki scoffs, a soft, empty laugh escaping his mouth, the sound brushing through his throat and bumping against his teeth. “ _If I really knew you_? God, the things I would find, I already know: you are obnoxious and have a cash register instead of a heart and brain.”

“You have a gift for sublime replies,” Thor laughs. “That was magnificent.”

His throat contracts painfully. “Is everything a joke to you? For God’s sake, please leave.”

This man? This man is so distracting and charming and handsome and such a fucking asshole.

Loki is so _mad_ at fate for it.

Thor nods and Loki sighs in relief, thinking he has seen the end of it; however, Thor stands up, walks from the table he’s sitting at and sits down at the very next table with his back to Loki. He orders an iced tea which makes Loki frown—who orders iced tea in goddamn December?

At that moment, the door to the cafe opens and Loki whips his head around in a hurry, staring at it hopefully when he notices a handsome man coming in.

Unfortunately, he is immediately joined by a woman with bright red lipstick, and Loki’s rose of hope falters as soon as it has sparked.

He gets his mother’s handkerchief out of his pocket and traces the orchids and initials stitched upon the soft fabric, thinking back of when she was working on it under the quiet English sun during summertime.

It all seems so far away, now. Here he is, shaking hands with the unknown and sporting a wound he has more and more trouble hiding.

“The handkerchief reminds me of the day we met properly—”

Loki cuts through Thor’s voice. “You mean, the day you _lied_ to me?”

“I didn’t lie to you—”

“You didn’t give me your full name for a good reason,” Loki says. He’s getting really tired of having this being brought to the table over and over again. “Here I was, thinking it was charming. I can be so dumb at times.”  
  
Thor stands up and comes sitting back at Loki’s table with his tall glass of peach iced tea just another man comes into the cafe with no book or rose in sight.

“Let me guess, that’s not him either,” he says before taking a sip of his drink and looking to the side.

“I don’t know,” Loki answers sharply. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen him.”

Thor removes his mouth from the straw curiously. “You’ve never met him?”

Loki arches an eyebrow when he focuses back on Thor and realises there are ice cubes in his glass. “It’s freezing outside and you’re drinking _iced_ tea?”

“And?” Thor shrugs, twirling the straw. “That’s some very good iced tea. Would be stupid to pass on it. So what about that guy? You’ve never met him, then?”

“No, I haven’t,” Loki eventually replies with exasperation etched in his voice. His tongue feels restless in his mouth. “Anyway. What are _you_ doing here? I thought you would be at some fancy literature party or something.”

“I was about to have dinner with my best friend, and we had a fight, and now she thinks I’m an asshole,” Thor grunts as if it explains everything. “Just needed to think about something else for a bit, and then I saw you in there.”

“Well, isn’t that the case? You _are_ an asshole,” Loki shoots back, brows creased. "Even your best friend says so." 

Thor laughs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Loki sighs heavily, exasperated. He can feel the throb of a headache coming already; his breathing is labored, punctured, left hanging. His face scrunches up, contorting with the effort to make the pain recede. “I mean, what did you expect? You’re coming in and trash talking my date and telling me all these things when all I want is to be alone.”

Loki thinks that his disgruntled growl is enough of an answer for a moment, but he knows he needs to assert himself.

“Would you please leave, now?” Loki asks hollowly.

“Why? You don’t want me to see how you are going to shift from sugar sweet to sour and prickly like you do with me? You don’t want me to see it happening to your dear date?”

“I won’t be mean to this man because he is completely unlike you,” Loki murmurs. The quiet anger coiling in the pit of his stomach takes shape and becomes a monster. “The man coming tonight is kind and funny and tender—”

“But he’s not here,” Thor retorts.

“I’m sure he has a reason and I bet it’s a good one because he has no bad bone in his body, which I can’t expect you to understand since you like to torment me so much. You have nothing but a suit, Thor.”

He sees Thor flinch and instantly feels bad, which he absolutely and utterly hates with all he has. He doesn’t care about him. _He does not._ He just thinks this man is hot. And charming. And handsome. But that’s it, alright? That’s all there is to it.

A beat. Thor swallows.

“This is my cue. Goodnight, Loki,” he says as he inhales slowly through his nose and exhales through clenched teeth.

Loki expects his heart to bloom with something akin to joy at the fact that he stood his ground facing Thor, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t bloom at all. It beats harshly against his ribcage with a vicious sting to this chest.

It feels horrible and it _burns_ something fierce.

He hurt Thor and it now seems pretty obvious that his friend isn’t going to come in the end.

Whatever.

 _Whatever_. He had thought about this situation and had stacked it at the back of his mind to avoid it altogether.

He pays for his tea with trembling hands, holds the book and rose to his chest while walking home until the scent of the flower becomes too much to bear.

Tears flare up in Loki’s eyes when he throws the rose away in the trash two blocks before reaching his flat.

The aftermath is a blur.

Loki feels sick when he hears the snicks of buttons as he works his fingers on his shirt; it only goes away when the warmth of the shower lingers on his skin, and his skin ends up pink, raw, pressed open by the scalding water.

There’s still panic in his blood. There’s still a raging sadness swirling in his head, everything all at once and the clear sensation of _not being there_ , of trying to be connected back to the floor beneath his feet while he can’t feel his arms and forgets he even breathes for a second.

_Panic._

_Panic molded around his body and never really leaving him alone; like a poison, always there, never quite gone, making his blood rot away._

_Anxiety disorder, they had said._

_“Anxiety disorder my ass,” Loki had grumbled, only taking his medication because Hela had laid big, concerned eyes on him and wouldn’t let him go on his day otherwise._

_“You don’t need to act like Mum, really.”_

_Something had flashed in his sister’s eyes._

_“Well, I wouldn’t be acting like her if you had your shit together, Loki.”_

He forces himself to swallow his medication with a glass of water and not alcohol, nibbles on a day-old piece of bread until he gives up and curls up in bed with his phone, heart beating wildly in his aching chest.

_Please let there be a message. Please let him explain._

_Please. Something. Anything._

It loads.

Nothing.

Loki’s intake of breath is so sharp it hurts his lungs with the rush of it.

He loads it again.

His mailbox is empty.

He falls back against the pillows, one arm thrown across his eyes.

The next morning, as his feet scrape the asphalt and he walks through the city kissed by the sun, all he can feel is _cold._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can scream at me over tumblr or reviews! Don't hesitate to tell me what you thought of this chapter and what you are expecting to happen... I love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> angryzilla.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t text me back all weekend,” Sif welcomes him the next Monday as she waits for Loki with her steaming coffee in hand. There’s nothing accusatory in her tone, he knows, but he can’t help feeling attacked.
> 
> There is a slight lull when her voice trails off. He sincerely can’t find it in himself to reply and simply puts the key in the lock to let himself and Sif in.
> 
> “Loki,” she says quietly, reaching out for his arm, “what happened?”
> 
> Without a second glance, Loki answers, willing his voice to remain steady. “He never came.”
> 
> _“He stood you up?”_
> 
> The question catches him slightly off balance. Loki simply nods and goes to the back to put his coat and bag in his office, leaving his tea on the counter; it seems to be slowly going cold with every tendril of fading steam that wafts away from the black lid.
> 
> “I don’t know what happened,” he says, voice slightly muffled, unable to think of a better reply. “He didn’t message me. I think something bad happened and… yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, aka angst partyyyy ahaha no there are. Good things. Good perspectives.
> 
> I'm so overwhelmed and _happy_ that you guys like this fic. Really. Thank you _so much_ to all of you who commented, reblogged, liked it and kudoed it. It means the world to me <3

“You didn’t text me back all weekend,” Sif welcomes him the next Monday as she waits for Loki with her steaming coffee in hand. There’s nothing accusatory in her tone, he knows, but he can’t help feeling attacked.

There is a slight lull when her voice trails off. He sincerely can’t find it in himself to reply and simply puts the key in the lock to let himself and Sif in.

“Loki,” she says quietly, reaching out for his arm, “what happened?”

Without a second glance, Loki answers, willing his voice to remain steady. “He never came.”

“ _He stood you up?_ ”

The question catches him slightly off balance. Loki simply nods and goes to the back to put his coat and bag in his office, leaving his tea on the counter; it seems to be slowly going cold with every tendril of fading steam that wafts away from the black lid.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says, voice slightly muffled, unable to think of a better reply. “He didn’t message me. I think something bad happened and… yeah.”

Clint walks in, scarf up his nose, and frowns when he catches sight of Sif’s horrified face and Loki’s purple circles underneath his eyes.

“What happened?”

There’s a beat.

“He couldn’t make it,” Loki eventually sighs.

“He stood him up,” Sif adds with anger edging in her voice. “He took you for a fool!”

“Sif, stop that. He probably has a good reason. Or maybe...” and Loki’s eyes lower to the floor, heart squeezing, “maybe he showed up, took a look at me and ran the other way.”

Clint unwinds his scarf and rolls his eyes. “Have you seen yourself? You’re far from being ugly. Maybe there was a subway accident?”

“And he was trapped there?” Sif suggests, raising an eyebrow.

“With a dead phone,” Loki adds in.

“Or he could have crashed his car?” Clint asks.

Sif nods. “Therefore his arm is shattered—”

“So he needed a splint and he couldn’t write or call,” Loki replies.

“The traffic was normal on Saturday evening, both on the road and in the subway,” Hela’s voice comes through the door as she walks in. “I’m going to strangle this man if I ever stumble upon him. You okay?”

She leaves her purse on the counter next to Loki’s tea and slides a hand upon her brother’s shoulder, checking silently on him. Loki shakes his head gently, not really okay, of course, but enough to be functioning. It's always been an unspoken agreement between them: _I’m here for you. You can lean on me._ Hela smiles softly at him before leaving for the back office.

“You, on the other hand, seem to have had a good evening,” Loki points out when he notices Sif’s gigantic hickey, the purple-red bruise kissing the curve of her neck like a shattered flower.

She blushes at his remark, coughs,  carefully measuring her words. “It was alright.”

“Just alright? It’s oka—”

“Guys,” Clint exclaims suddenly, “look at the newspaper!”

He shoves the New York Post in their faces and it takes Loki a few seconds to make out the blurred, bold letters that are so close to his nose.

**_INTERNET DATE KILLER FOUND AT LAST ON SATURDAY NIGHT_ **

Dead silence grows on and on for a while, and Loki feels as if it has taken hours instead of seconds when Sif ends up breaking it.

“Clint, you’re not saying...”

Clint blinks a few times. “I mean, _look._ He was arrested two blocks away from the cafe Loki and him were supposed to meet!”

Loki fleetingly glances once more into Sif’s clear eyes before focusing on the other man, bringing his hand up to tuck a strand of black hair that had come loose from his messy ponytail. “Well, that would explain why he couldn’t make it. Maybe....”

“... he was in jail?” Sif adds in suggestion.

“And that’s why you didn’t see him!” Clint exclaims triumphally. “It all makes sense! Look at the picture in there, you can’t see his face. That’s definitely him!”

“That definitely _isn’t_ him,” Hela grumbles. She turns to Loki. “I hope you didn’t sit in there alone for too long?” she asks as she reappears with stacks of books clutched in her arms.

In the quiet of the shop, Loki clears his throat. Hela searches his eyes, her entire being dripping worry and confusion. “I waited for a while and then Thor Odinson came in—”

“ _Thor Odinson?_ What did that asshole want? Did he harass you?” Sif groans, brows drawing together. “Do I have to go punch him? I can do that now—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Loki cuts through her sentence. He closes his eyes. “We have work to do. Let’s start, please. Coffee’s brewing.”

All morning, Loki stays in his office, eyes glued to his phone and trying his best not to throw it against the wall.

“There’s always something to do, right, mum?” he says faintly, eyeing the picture of his mother that stands proudly on his old desk. “There must be something I can do.”

There might be something deeply wrong with him, but the idea of being ghosted and left on read without ever knowing why makes him crazy.

He needs to know.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Mon Dec 11 2017, 01:15 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I have been thinking about you a lot. Two days ago, I went to meet you and you weren’t there. I wish I knew why you didn’t come. I felt so foolish._

_You know… as I waited, someone else showed up, someone who has made my professional life an absolute misery recently. The thing is, I happen to be proud of myself because I stood up to him instead of going silent. I fought back, just as you told me to._

_I felt horrible afterward. I was so cruel, you see? And I’m never cruel. I can’t believe what I said, and I can’t believe it mattered to this man. He always looks so… untouchable. I’m sure he thinks I’m just a bug to be crushed. But, my friend… no matter how much I hate him, there is no excuse for my behaviour._

_Why am I even telling you this?_

_Anyway. I needed to message you. This silence from you is worrying me. The line went dead and it’s not a great feeling, obviously._

_I so wanted to talk to you “in real life”. I hope you have a good reason for not meeting up, but if you don’t… well. If we never really talk again, or ever talk at all, I just wanted to tell you how much it meant to me to know you were there, if only for a while._

_In case… goodbye, dear friend. Take care of yourself._

**_x x x_ **

Thor thinks about Loki’s—damn, it feels so weird to call his dear friend _Loki_ —message all day. It sits at the back of his mind during his meeting with Heimdall, during his meeting with his employees at 9 a.m before the bookstore opens, while he eats lunch and gets a piece of salad stuck between his teeth, when the phone rings in the afternoon and it’s his father not even trying to hide his frustration at his son for “not selling more and quicker.”

It’s in everything Thor does that day, and it drives him crazy.

The worst part of it all is the fact that he can’t even think of a proper answer. What is he supposed to tell Loki? “Hi, I am in fact Thor, your rival whom you hate so much! And I actually came in to meet you at the cafe but was too much of a coward to say anything about it!”

He shakes his head and sighs as Fenrir brings him his ball back, waiting eagerly for it to be thrown again so he can fetch it for his master.

His phone stares back at him all the way down to the park and back again. Fenrir tugs on his leash with so much strength at times it shakes Thor a little out of his reverie, but not enough for him to think of a beginning of an answer.

It’s not like he can text Jane—she’s still mad at him for the other night, and rightfully so; therefore, Thor has to deal with this mess himself.

Well.

Maybe not today.

He glances at his laptop, throws his phone on his bed and decides it’s high time for a snack.

A snack.

The kitchen feels so big, too big for him alone (and even with Fenrir. It’s too big of a kitchen).

Ten minutes later, his peanut butter sandwich is looking so pitiful in its tiny plate and Thor rolls his eyes. He should eat.

Except that he’s not hungry and too anxious and full of questions and—

“God. _Fuck it,_ ” he breathes out before walking back to his bedroom, opening up his laptop and sitting at his desk with his leg folded under himself.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Dec 11 2017, 07:48 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I am in Tokyo with some very poor internet connection._

“In Tokyo with no Internet. Who’s gonna believe that,” he grumbles as he hits the backspace key and deletes his message before trying again:

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Dec 11 2017, 07:48 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I was stuck in a meeting at my job. I couldn’t get out of it and unfortunately, my phone battery died on me. I had no power bank around and nobody had a charger._

He backspaces to erase everything up until “and unfortunately.”

“As if. Everyone has a fucking charger with them at work, me included.”

Thor sighs again and again, sitting there and thinking for a moment—

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Dec 11 2017, 07:49 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I was stuck in a meeting at my job. I couldn’t get out of it. The electricity went out in the building so I couldn’t charge my phone whose battery was super dead. You know how iPhones get…_

_Amazingly enough, it happened on the very date of our scheduled date!_

After losing track of time for almost half an hour looking at his dumb blue screen, Thor reluctantly stretches his legs with a wince while he keeps staring at what he has written.

“Fuck me, this is some hardcore bullshit—”

And then proceeds to delete the whole thing in a rush followed by a quick string of words and stumbling vowels.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Dec 11 2017, 08:19 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I cannot tell you what happened to me the other night, but I beg you from the bottom of my heart to forgive me_ _for not being there_ _for what happened. I feel horrible knowing that you found yourself with someone that has caused you additional pain on top of what is already happening to you. In the midst of all this mess, I can’t help being proud of you for standing your ground. I know you’re a good person. Don’t worry. Everyone says things they regret when they are under pressure or stressed out. You were expecting to see me whom, well, I assume you trusted, and instead you were met with the enemy._

_The fault is mine, my friend._

_I don’t know what to do to make it better. I don’t know how to make it hurt less._

_Someday I will explain everything. I promise._

_Meanwhille, I’m still here. Please, talk to me, dear friend._

**_x x x_ **

“Did he say anything about meeting again?” Sif asks quietly through the quiet December air. Snowflakes twirl softly in the air and kiss her dark red beanie as well as the shoulders of her coat, forming scattered constellations upon the dark fabric.

Loki shakes his head, scrubs a hand over his face. “No, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not really what I’m most worried about these days.”

Lifting his face, he allows the cold air to stir his dark hair, feeling like he used to as a boy during summertime when he allowed the ocean breeze to stick to every pore of his skin. The clean fresh air fills up his lungs, and for a moment, he feels alive, free of the burden he has been carrying for so long.

Hela’s building soon appears and they find themselves in front of her apartment quickly, shaking off the excess snow from their clothes before going in.

“Hey,” Hela greets them gently, hugging Sif and her brother in turn. Loki smiles back faintly as he lingers in her arms, struggling to keep himself looking upbeat.

She pauses in the entryway and rests her eyes on the cracks in the plaster of the ceiling to focus on something, _anything_ else.

 _Damn_. It hurts seeing your sibling grow up to become a sadder, lesser version of who they used to be. 

“We’re going to close, Hela,” Loki says wearily, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Close?” Sif asks with wide eyes, turning her entire body to her best friend, her heart dropping in her stomach. “But—Loki—”

“ _Close_. We’re going to close. That’s the best decision we can take, although it feels like a failure… it feels like I’m betraying mum…”

He shuts his eyes tightly, as if in sudden great pain; it takes him so much effort to swallow the lump in his throat, so much more than he anticipated. Hela moves quickly over to the spot next to him on the couch and wraps her arms around her little brother.

“Hey, it’s okay, Loki. It’s okay. Keeping the store open doesn’t keep mum alive even if we like to think it does. I believe it’s a brave thing to do, actually.”

“You think so?” Loki asks in a tiny voice, though Hela’s words make him feel a little better.

She nods. “I do. It’s so brave to be able to put an end to this before it gets even worse. The shop has been opened for so long! It’s already so good to have been around like this. Be proud of yourself.”

The way she smiles at him makes Loki’s heart warmer, fuller. He feels… hopeful, and relieved, somehow. He expected to be a sad mess but the reality is that it's better that way. Less stress. Less anxiety about salaries and people. And if he feels guilty about his mother, it's the part of him that still hasn't let go.

In time, it will, he believes.

Putting an end to the shop isn’t the end of everything—it’s the start of new beginnings.

**_x x x_ **

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Tue Dec 12 2017, 04:05 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_All that I can say is: I don’t know about anything anymore, but I’m glad you’re still here._

_I decided I would end up closing my business. It’s become too complicated with the competition around. I can’t even give myself a salary anymore. It's for the better, though. I couldn't go on like this, and I believe new beginnings are before me, now._

_Please don’t beat yourself up too hard about what happened the other night. Sometimes life has ways of telling us that it wasn’t the right moment and if there’s ever any in sight… I hope we catch that spark._

_Let’s keep talking._

_Please._

**_x x x_ **

**_Sif (5:03 p.m.)_ **

_I’m going home early._

**_Brunnhilde (5:07 p.m.)_ **

_What happened?_

**_Sif (5:07 p.m.)_ **

_Got some bad news. You can still come over tonight if you want to._

**_Brunnhilde (5:08 p.m.)_ **

_Sure, babe. Keep me updated._

**_Sif (5:09 p.m)._ **

_Of course. Good luck at work._

The knock on Thor’s door startles him enough that he has to take a few seconds to calm himself down. He has been staring too intently at reports and newspapers in the last few hours and he really needs the break.

“Come in,” he calls gently.

Brunnhilde appears behind the door, carrying a stack of files.

“Come on in,” Thor says again, waving at her to come sit down in front of his desk. “You want some coffee?”

She shakes her head, only moving to place the files on Thor’s desk. “No, it’s fine, sir.”

Thor squints and frowns. “What’s wrong? You look preoccupied.”

“I need to hand you my resignation,” Brunnhilde chokes out all of a sudden, tears threatening to spill on her cheeks. It’s the first time Thor has ever seen her like this and a wind of panic seizes him.

“Hey, hey,” he replies softly,  “please sit down and tell me everything.” 

She doesn’t cry when she tells her boss everything about the situation at hand; about dating a girl named Sif, a girl Thor whose name he recognises instantly; about never telling her about working for Loki’s direct competition and rival; about feeling helpless and thinking it is about time she handed Thor her resignation.

“So,” Thor eventually says after a while, licking his lips and brushing the rim of his coffee mug absently, “you think she’ll break up with you if you still work here?”

Brunnhilde looks Thor up and down before nodding. “Absolutely positive she will. She hates Odinson Books with every fiber of her being, and I can’t be mad at her for it. She adores Loki, they’re like brother and sister.”

If Thor occasionally dreams of glinting emerald eyes and a smile softer than sunshine, well, he can’t blame Brunnhilde for wanting to do right by her girlfriend.

She’s not a woman who says much, Brunnhilde, but her hands and whole body talk a lot more for her than she does herself. Thor knows there is a lot of tension running through her veins and muscles, much like himself, and he can’t help feeling like they are alike; he wants to help her and give her her chance. If giving her her chance means letting her go, then Thor is ready for it.

He likes to think he’s somehow different from his father when it comes to handling his role as a boss: more down to earth, more empathic, more interested in his employees.

In the end, maybe it’s his chance, here, to show he has learnt more and grown more than his father could ever think he would.

**_x x x_ **

Echoes of conversation drift through the half-open door when Brunnhilde gets to Sif’s apartment that night; she recognises Loki’s voice through the speaker of her girlfriend’s phone, faint and muffled—did he cry?—and then a gentle “goodnight,” and, “take care of yourself, okay?” and “talk to you tomorrow. I love you, we will get through this together,” before Sif hangs up, pressing her phone to her chest for a second while staring at the floor.

 _What happened?_ Brunnhilde wonders. _Did Loki eventually decide to close his own shop because of Odinson Books?_

Sif’s smile quickly vanishes when she notices that something is definitely wrong with her girlfriend.

Brunnhilde’s throat closes up at the sight and at the idea of crushing Sif any further. How can she tell Sif without breaking her heart? How can she?

“What happened? Did someone die? _Fuck this day._ ”

“No, nothing that bad,” Brunnhilde murmurs, trying to smile a little to alleviate the furious beat of anxiety in her stomach. Sif’s hair is a funny thing, usually so straight before she heads to work and now curling softly against the base of her neck in natural curves. She closes her eyes tightly. “No, babe, I need to tell you something and it’s—it’s not easy.”

The silence that follows quickly becomes uncomfortable for them both, a flame alive under their skin from anxiety and unsaid words. Cigarettes crushed one after another into a tiny bowl on Sif’s kitchen table; she never smokes, except when she is stressed out of her bones.

Loki is definitely closing the shop, or something equally bad has happened, Brunnhilde is sure of that.

Sif’s glasses slip down her nose and Brunnhilde reaches out to adjust them, caressing the woman’s cheek in the process; her skin is hot and smooth against her palm. Sif blushes a lovely shade of pink and smiles at her girlfriend, which only makes Brunnhilde’s heart squeeze tighter in her chest, and not in a good way.

“You’re scaring me,” Sif ends up saying, her smile faint and weak. She’s trying to persuade herself it’s nothing, probably, and that breaks Brunnhilde’s heart even more. Nobody deserves to be lied to like that. She had a reason, she tells herself, but is it enough of a reason? _Is it?_

“Sif, I used to work for Odinson Books,” Brunnhilde blurts out in a single breath. That is probably not the best way to phrase it but it is definitely no use letting Sif imagine every possible scenario until she passes out from hyperventilating. “I didn’t want to tell you at first because I didn’t think we would get this serious, and then…”

She takes a deep breath and doesn’t even dare looking up at her girlfriend, staring at her shoes instead as if she could find the answer to everything out there.

“... Then, I fell in love with you.”

Sif looks at her through her bangs, a neutral expression settling on her face, which makes Brunnhilde think of that first time they had been together in bed and what Sif had said— _“I don’t know, but I bet I’m as easy to read as an open book… which is both nice and frustrating.”_

It doesn’t add up, but it makes sense, somehow: Sif is hiding her emotions because she is hurt, and it takes no Sherlock Holmes to understand that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner—”

“When did you quit?” Sif asks suddenly.

Brunnhilde frowns, the tips of her short fingers starting to pull at the seam of her sweater, her skin dry and chapped from the lingering touch of the cold wind outside. “What does it matter? Aren’t you mad that I worked there in the first place? It’s hardly relevant to know when I quit—”

“ _When did you quit?_ ” Sif repeats, her voice ice cold this time.

_Even if you hide, it doesn’t go away. Lesson learnt._

“Tonight. I handed my resignation tonight.”

Sif stands still, barely breathing, eyes fixated on the other woman, her lips a thin line. Brunnhilde walks tentatively over, ducking her head, but stops. It must show in Sif’s eyes, a flicker of anger coming through in her expression, her gaze full of agony and sorrow.

She knows it’s over, and yet needs to hear it said. Properly. She lets her eyes drift shut, prepares for the blow—

“I want you gone within the next ten minutes,” Sif exhales.

Brunnhilde looks up at her, wants to reach out and catch hold of Sif, wants to tell her _please, don’t do this_ , but there is no point. Her fingers tighten for a moment, then release.

There is no point anymore.

She knew that playing this game had a fifty-fifty chance of failure; she did it anyway, and she lost.

There’s nothing left, she figures, no life jacket around, nothing that could help to save this. Why would she keep swimming knowing the sea is so deep and that she would end up drowning anyway?

The last thing she hears is Sif asking, “ _how could you?_ ”

And that’s the last time, Brunnhilde realises, that she sees Sif being this open. Tears are falling freely on her cheeks and she's clenching her hands into fists to stop their trembling before she slams the door to her apartment shut, leaving her now ex-girlfriend in the cold, damp staircase of the building.

_How could I? I don’t even know._

_I love you. That’s all I know._

The words are on her tongue. Brunnhilde swallows them and forces herself to step away from the door, to take the stairs as quickly as possible to be met with the frost of the night and the nightmares of its arms, the taste of bitterness lingering on her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah this is a sad end of a chapter, I'm sorry /o\ but I promise chapter 7 will wrap everything up with jokes... and sexy times!
> 
> Also, I decided that I would end up writing an epilogue to this, hence why the story is now at 8 chapters. I wasn't planning on doing it and then started talking about it with my girlfriend and she gave me the best idea, so _of course_ I had to do it.
> 
> You can scream at me in the comments or on tumblr, as usual! Your impressions and reviews are always delightful to read, please don't hesitate!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Everything looks different in the morning,_ Loki tells himself as he looks around the shop and smiles sadly when his eyes catch the sign plastered on the tall glass panels outside.
> 
> _**Closing this week: all stock is 40% off** _
> 
> _**Get the books you’ve always wanted at a lower price before we go!** _
> 
> The bookshop is going to close this week and he can hardly believe it, though he has seen the end coming for a while. He just put it off until nothing else could be done and a decision had to be taken to save everyone from further damage—to save Loki from further heartbreak.
> 
> “It’s going to be a hard week,” Sif murmurs, gaze lost in the piles of books they got out of storage to be sold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the "last" chapter... well, was supposed to be as such but as you know, I'm writing the epilogue! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this seventh chapter and as usual, thank you _so_ much for all the comments, reblogs, likes, kudos. This big bang has been long and difficult for me, mostly because I'm so anxious about my writing (not being native, I sometimes feel like I sound "off") and because I'm not used to writing so many chapters. 
> 
> Your comments have honestly made so many of my days and nights. Thank you ever so much for this <3

_Everything looks different in the morning_ , Loki tells himself as he looks around the shop and smiles sadly when his eyes catch the sign plastered on the tall glass panels outside.

**_Closing this week: all stock is 40% off_ **

**_Get the books you’ve always wanted at a lower price before we go!_ **

The bookshop is going to close this week and he can hardly believe it, though he has seen the end coming for a while. He just put it off until nothing else could be done and a decision had to be taken to save everyone from further damage—to save Loki from further heartbreak.

“It’s going to be a hard week,” Sif murmurs, gaze lost in the piles of books they got out of storage to be sold.

Loki doesn't trust himself to say anything, so he just nods, and Sif smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She pushes her glasses upward, the circles under her eyes covered by layers of concealer Loki can still see through because he knows her so well. She didn’t go into detail about what happened with Brunnhilde, except that they broke up and that nothing else could be done about it. Loki had been confused when he had learnt the news, yet had kept his mouth shut so as not to aggravate Sif any further by asking unwelcome questions.

The first day of that final week passes by so quickly it gives Loki whiplash. The number of people who come in, buy books and tell him how the Shop Around The Corner has been a pillar of their life is a lot to take in for him, and his heart is becoming more and more of a confused mess.

He’s so glad to hear these stories—he really is. It’s just hard not to cry, especially when a man he has seen a handful of times with his son buys an entire stack of comic books and a bunch of poetry books. He tells Loki how much his shop has meant to him and how he wishes he could have carried the tradition with his son the way his own father did.

Loki’s hands come up to thread through his dark hair and he smiles, tries his best to keep the waves of tears at bay.

It’s not time for the ocean to come yet.

He smiles gently at the man and his son, makes some small talk about his future and laughs about the shop becoming a Starbucks or another Burger King, his heart screaming quietly in the background.

In the evening, when he is back at home, Loki looks down at his hands, traces the lines etched into his palms and wonders if these are supposed to mean something, anything that could be helpful to him. He wonders if it’s just the skin being stitched together or a sign that his body is an artifact of memories that are bigger than him.

_You’re gonna have to carry yourself, Loki. It’s time. You used to tell yourself ‘what’s done is done until you do it again.’ Now is a matter of letting the past behind until you grow new flowers upon past mistakes_

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Mon Dec 18 2017, 10:39 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_My store is closing this week. We have put everything up on sale._

_Did I ever tell you I owned a store? Probably not with our no-specifics policy. Just that I had a business. Well, now you know, I guess._

_In a week it will be something else: maybe another Starbucks, maybe another American Eagle store. I try to remain cheerful and happy to handle everything, but it’s so hard to imagine this store closed, especially when I got to see it bloom under my mother’s careful hands and patience._

_I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, if only for my employees, though it has proven complicated with the number of people coming into the store to tell me how much it has meant to them through the years, and how they grew up with the books my mother would sell them. Soon my shop will just be a memory and people will probably remember it tenderly, with slightly teary eyes before they decide to shop elsewhere or order directly on Amazon. I am probably sounding so bitter right now and I am sorry, dear friend…_

_The truth, really, is that I am heartbroken. It feels as if a part of me has died and that my mother has died all over again, and no one can ever make it right because you can’t bring back the dead, right? You can’t, and that’s how it should be, but it doesn’t make it any less heart-wrenching. I still don’t know how to handle grief, how to say goodbye to the shadow of my mother. She died of cancer. It was too soon, too early for her to go._

_I have to carry myself. I have to. I need to. I must? I must go on. I guess it would do me good to see a therapist. I haven’t seen one in years with how busy I’ve been. Also because of money. You know, health insurance and America, not a big love story!_

_Well. Okay, I think it’s enough for tonight._

_Take care, dear friend._

_I miss you._

**_x x x_ **

_I’m sorry,_ Thor writes back at work the following morning. He stares at his computer screen and turns his gaze to the window, the sun frozen in the horizon and hugged by clear clouds.

_I’m sorry. This is the only thing I know. I’m sorry, dear friend._

Thor feels a pang of guilt explode in his chest before it crawls back in his throat.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Thor Odinson,” he mutters out loud as he starts typing again.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Tue Dec 19 2017, 10:02 a.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I’m sorry. This is the only thing I know. I’m sorry, dear friend. I don’t know what else to say. Truly, I don’t. And anything I will write down will probably sound… stupid, or trite, or just like nothing compared to what you are going through._

_I really hope you feel better soon._

It’s usually not that hard to write a message to Loki. Thor feels guilty for so many things, for having a role in his store closing, for making Loki miserable because he has been lied to…

Thor rubs his thumb over the skin stretching along the curve of his neck, thinking.

God, it’s only Tuesday and he wishes the weekend was here already. For a long while, he simply sits, appalled by his own triteness and stupidity and all the mistakes he has made that could have been avoided.

**_x x x_ **

Saturday comes far too quickly for Loki’s taste.

The store ends up crowded for its last day of existence, people buying stacks and stacks of books and trying to know more about Loki’s future while he busies himself at the cash register with a smile he has practiced all week plastered on his lips.

He sometimes catches brief snatches of conversation scattered around the shop—Hela telling one of their regular customers she is planning to travel to see her girlfriend’s family in Iceland; Sif talking about starting the Ph.D. in Literature she has always wanted to do; Clint saying he has been offered a job at Odinson Books but he won’t take it despite Loki assuring him that it’s okay if he does.

Every little bit of space is crowded with someone, people frantically searching for books and always looking for more; it feels like Sales Month all over again, except this is the last time it will ever take place at the Shop Around The Corner.

A middle-aged woman whom he recognises to be one of their regulars from the past few years dumps a large pile of books on the counter before apologising for being so brutal. Loki looks up at her and smiles gently.

“It’s okay, Iris,” he tells her as he inspects the books in front of him. “Found everything you wanted?”

Iris shakes her head before pausing a few seconds later, turning around quickly and looking at the far right corner of the shop. “Honey, can you get me a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ , please? Thanks!”

Facing Loki again, she grins at him, teeth catching the low light of the December sun and the red spark of Christmas decorations. “Sorry about that.” She clears her throat, watches Loki scan each book after the other. “What are you going to do with yourself?” she finally dares to ask. Wrinkles deepen the lines of her face, in worry or advanced apology, Loki doesn’t know, but he smiles again to soothe them.

“I don’t really know yet,” he answers in earnest, secretly pleased at her choice of books as he scans _Neverwhere_ by Neil Gaiman and puts it on the side. “I will probably take a bit of time for myself, maybe holidays. I have a little money saved and Hela’s planning to travel to Iceland so I might as well just go with Sigyn and her. I guess that would allow my brain to breathe a little.”

“That’s such a good idea!” another woman behind Iris says suddenly, startling Loki out of his thoughts. She smiles at him with her own pile of books while Iris is paying. “I used to come here every Saturday afternoon with my mother when I was a little girl,” she explains. “I remember when Fárbauti gave me _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._ “Read it with a box of sweet things around,” that’s what she told me.”

There is a light in Iris’ eyes, Loki notices when he hands her her bag, and he wonders what she has in mind.

“She’s definitely looking down on you right now,” she eventually tells him.

Loki’s heart squeezes tightly in his chest. The moment stretches, fragile as glass, and Iris stares at him for a while, the sounds of customers around drowning out his thoughts as they chat and add books to their piles or wander through the shop one last time as if committing it to memory.

The realization sits cold in the pit of Loki’s stomach.

The shop is closing today, and he’s definitely not ready for it.

“I’m sure she is,” he replies in a breath, another dying smile pushing through his sadness.

_Don’t let them see._

Iris waves goodbye when she leaves, fingers intertwined with her husband’s. She smiles again just as she crosses the threshold, half-melancholic, half-apologetic.

“We should bomb Odinson Books,” another customer grumbles, approaching the counter with a stack of books that goes up to his chin. He manages to slide them all on the surface without spilling anything.

“It’s not their fault,” Loki sighs, distressingly earnest. “The thing is… the world is different, now. There’s not much we can do.”

Oh, how he wishes he could believe his own words.

**_x x x_ **

Hela forces him to take a lunch break for once, no matter how many times Loki protests that he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t feel like eating, so he just settles for his usual Chai Latte order at Starbucks if only to get some sugar in his blood to avoid passing out in front of his whole staff and customers.

The sun, timid and quiet, is starting to leak pools on the snowy asphalt on his way back, and he stops before Odinson Books and watches people lined up at the cash registers behind the tall windows. Loki stares down at his hands and decides he might as well just enter to see what is so special about this goddamn bookstore.

Following the directions painted in soft grey letters on the red walls, Loki goes directly up the stairs and lets himself be swept away by the space dedicated to the Children’s Department: shelves and shelves stuffed with books and floors decorated with soft rugs and colourful walls and—

It’s so much more than what his own store could ever have offered, and the thought punches him in the gut so hard he quickly finds a plush armchair to sit on and recover.

It’s so weird, how life happens and how it unfolds; he never thought he would ever set a foot in Odinson Books but here he is, panicked and miserable because he is losing it all and he can’t stop his free falling, thinking about his mother and how she put all her might in creating a safe reading heaven for all ages, her appreciation for children’s books showing up happily in the corner she had dedicated to it and that Loki kept with care.

Everything is so huge and spacious, here. The reading area is four times the size of Loki’s and the child-sized furniture is so cute he barely contains the leaps his heart makes.

So many books, and customers, and life all around this shop; so much more than what his own store has made so far, but Loki doesn’t feel jealous.

Mostly, he feels guilty for not holding onto his promise, for letting his mother’s shop fail, for letting people down.

“Do you have _The Witches_ book?” a woman asks a salesperson behind Loki.

“ _The Witches_ book? Who’s the author?” the man dressed in a red and grey uniform answers.

Loki’s heart clenches harder in his chest. Roald Dahl was one of his mother’s favourite authors.

“I don’t know,” the woman says, pensive. “My friend told me my daughter has to read _The Witches_ , so here I am.”

“It’s by Roald Dahl,” Loki eventually speaks up as he turns around in the tiny armchair, his knees bumping into it. “Roald Dahl wrote _The Witches_ and _Matilda_ and _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ and…”

Tears start streaming down his face at the memories that are pouring in his head, memories of his mother reading him these books even when Laufey had just been so violent to her and Hela and Loki, memories of bookshelves stacked with so many copies of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory after the film was released…

“I’d start with _Matilda_ first, though. It’s my favourite,” he adds while mopping at his cheeks with his sleeves, “although _The Witches_ is wonderful. Maybe after _Matilda_.”

“Roald… Da…?” the salesman asks with a confused look spreading on his face.

“D-A-H-L,” Loki spells and looks away.

The woman thanks him and follows the man who directs her to a shelf full of books, and Loki sniffs and sighs heavily.

“They know nothing,” he mutters to himself. “Absolutely nothing. I’m positive they wouldn’t even know who Neil Gaiman is if you asked them.”

From the other side of the room, Loki catches sight of Thor, the man behind his demise. And yet, the anger he thought would explode stays quiet, so quiet he wonders if it’s even there anymore. He still feels the pang of desire showing up at the sight, the same old _What an asshole/he’s so handsome_ thoughts in his head.

The feeling doesn’t last, though. Loki finds his handkerchief in his pocket and pads at his wet cheeks, taking a deep breath and pushing himself back in motion. He stands up quickly from the tiny chair and looks around him.

He glances at Thor and smiles.

Perhaps closing the shop is an end, but it is also a new beginning.

**_x x x_ **

A frozen wind and 8 p.m marches in, the store left devastated in its wake. The entire stock is gone and most bookshelves are empty, only a few books sitting here and there like a bunch of cactuses showing up in the desert.

Loki can hear Hela breathing beside him, can practically feel Sif vibrating with anxiety in his back.

“So,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I guess the Shop Around the Corner is on hiatus until Odinson Books finds one way or another to buy it from me.”

There is a whole ocean tangled in his throat but now is not the time to let it out.

Clint starts laughing and everyone seems to do, too, in his wake. Loki grins, brushes a hand through his black curls and closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh.

It’s not as painful as he thought, if only for now; he somehow feels relieved, as if someone had put the weight of the world off his shoulders.

It feels good. Maybe not right, but good. Better than he thought. It’s such an important step, and he’s glad he has a clear mind to enjoy it.

They celebrate the end by drinking until Clint declares his undying love to Baudelaire in the form of a sonnet, until Sif’s face splits into a genuine smile that Loki hasn’t seen in days, until Hela almost passes out from the lack of breathing because she ends up laughing so much—

Until Loki realises it’s all over and that he probably loves _pirateangel_ and never really hated Thor Odinson in the first place.

Midnight hits the clock when he carries the last box of supplies outside. Hela sucks on her cigarette and offers it to her brother. Loki takes a long drag that sits for a while in his mouth and throat before hitting his lungs like a redemption, like an epiphany. New. A beginning.

“I think mum would be proud of you,” she tells him as they exchange the cigarette back forth while watching the misty silver sky fall asleep over their heads. “I wouldn’t have made it this far if I had been the one in charge.”

He drops his gaze to the side and looks at the night sky lazing around; it is quite a sight, this sky darker than coal, clouds the only highlights that can be found out there.

Loki smiles, slings an arm around his sister and cranes his neck to see the few stars the New York sky allows them to watch, heartbeat drumming in his temple. “We both did a great job and mum would be proud of us, I think.”

**_x x x_ **

**_Jane (8:11 p.m)_ **

_You home?_

Thor chews his thumbnail while he thinks of a response. He hasn’t Jane since the Loki Incident and he doesn’t know how to handle the situation.

Well. Better be honest, then. Jane’s his best friend, after all.

**_Thor (8:15 p.m)_ **

_Still at work, just finishing up a few things. What’s up?_

**_Jane (8:16 p.m)_ **

_Do you wanna go have a drink and eat something? I think we should talk._

When he meets Jane in front of the building where she works, his face splits into a tight, nervous smile. “Hi. It’s been a while.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jane asks half-mocking, half-bitter, and punches Thor’s shoulder. “You’re a dumbass.”

“That’s why you love me,” Thor replies, a smile curling his lips and dancing in his eyes. Something uncurls in his stomach, an ache he had kept ever since Jane and him fell on bad terms; his collarbones arch gracefully in this new push toward a fresh breath taken in his lungs as if he had forgotten to breathe during all these days. It pools below the cave of his sternum, expands and stretches across lands of muscles and blood, bones awake at last.

Jane eventually approaches the topic of their fallout again later on, fries in one hand and burger in the other, chewing on a huge bite of bread and meat with a serious frown on her face.

“So you still haven’t told him?”

Thor frowns for a minute, not expecting to be dragged out of his reverie so quickly before comprehension dawns on him. _Him._ Not using names. It sounds like they are on a mission or walking on eggshells, Thor isn’t sure, but he doesn’t exactly like it.

Outside, the clouds are pregnant with rain about to fall and the air smells wet through the door that opens and closes on a regular basis.

Thor nods distractedly, already working on another bite of his own fries, watching as some sauce trickles out of the back of Jane’s burger to cover her fingers. She sucks messily on them and Thor laughs quietly before taking a sip of his beer.

“I can’t exactly tell him now, that would be such a shitty move,” Thor laments and dips a fry in ketchup. “His shop closed today. He doesn’t need more bad news.”

“What makes you think it will be bad news for him?”

Thor rolls his eyes, his mouth is suddenly so very dry—a desert of its own. “Well, Jane, isn’t it obvious? I mean, the guy _hates_ my guts.”

She smiles, heavy eyelids fluttering closed as she takes another bite of her burger with a delight Thor has rarely seen. “I don’t think he hates you. Far from it, actually, and the same goes for you. No matter how much you try to repress it, you definitely like Loki.”

“I don’t—” Thor starts and swallows thickly. He sinks further down into his seat, his features stormy, “ _—like_ Loki.”

Thoughts and feelings crowd Thor’s brain just as Angela decides to text him out of the blue.

**_Angela (10:21 p.m)_ **

_I think I’m gonna ask Laufeyson if he wants to write a book now that he’s unemployed. My husband is definitely interested in having him as an author for his company._

Jane eyes him as Thor holds onto his phone and his half-eaten burger in his hands, a cloud carved across his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks gently, a hint of worry slipping in her tone.

“Angela just texted me,” Thor replies with a grunt as if it explained everything. “She wants Loki to become an author in her husband’s publishing company.”

He looks on expectantly as Jane picks up her beer and brings it to her lips, taking a long sip before answering.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she wonders and watches carefully as Thor takes a large bite of his hamburger and swallows it in one go, smearing the corners of his mouth with sauce in the process. “That would suit him, don’t you think?”

Thor shakes his head and wipes his mouth. “I don’t like the idea of him working for Angela.”

“Now that’s just your grumpy side speaking up. Are you jealous?”

“Jane, for fuck’s sake,” Thor says, looking around the room, looking everywhere but at his best friend, “I’m not jealous, and I don’t like Loki that way.”

“Hmmm,” Jane offers as an answer, reaching out for Thor’s beer and snatching it under his horrified gaze. He whines in protest but she’s already gulping it down by the time he tries to take it back from her hands. She hums in appreciation, grinning at him. “But you like _agent_of_asgard,_ right?”

“You owe me a fucking beer, and _yes_ , _I do like him_ , but—”

Oh.

_Oh, fuck._

_Fucking caught you, Odinson._

The cook hollers from the grill behind them, jolting Thor out of his thoughts.

“See, you _like_ Loki,” Jane smirks as she leans on the table. “Gotcha.”

Thor flushes an intense shade of red, as red as the walls in his bookshop, and drives his fingernails into the flesh on the back of his right hand. He winces a little at the mention of Loki, keeps eating after a pause. He takes a tentative sip of beer, and it leaves a wet line above his lips.

Tearing his eyes from a grinning Jane, Thor shakes his head, trying to prove himself that it’s not the case, that it’s not it. “I don’t… Jane, I don’t _like_ Loki.” He hates how his voice catches on Loki’s name, how his stomach flutters just a little at the mention of the man.

“How much dumber can you get?” Jane groans, rolling her eyes. “ _Agent_of_asgard_ is Loki. You just told me you like _agent_of_asgard_ , _therefore_ , you like Loki. They’re the same person, why are you making this so difficult?”

“But,” Thor protests, his throat raspy, pale lashes fluttering in the dim light, “it feels like they’re two different people. I mean. Sometimes. Less and less, I guess, but…”

Thor bites the inside of his cheek and he’s at a loss here, unable to form words. Confusion slashes through the frost that’s been sitting in his body for the whole day. He feels drowsy with the wine of his own thoughts, speechless at his own discovery.

“I think,” Jane says very gently, very slowly as she reaches out for Thor’s hand across the table, “that you like Loki a lot more than you let on or even realise yourself. I’m not trying to ambush you here, Thor. I am just worried about you being in denial.”

Thor shakes his head. “I don’t know what I feel.” He lifts his face to meet his best friend’s eyes, peers at her with what Jane identifies as half agony, half hope. “I don’t know.”

He tries to put words on the jumbled pictures dancing in his head, and it’s doubt, yet again, that stops the course of his brain.

What does he _feel_ for Loki?

He quiets for a moment, lost in his growing distress as he absentmindedly curls his fingers around his glass of beer, his other hand still finding peace in the circle of Jane’s touch. There is a strange sense of shame creeping up his back, and so he looks anywhere but at her, focusing instead on the large framed picture above her. It's of the owner of the place’s mother holding him as a little boy and it radiates love and warmth.

A grip. Thor needs to get _a fucking grip_ on himself. God, what is going on with him?

It feels like his heart is growing bigger and denser at the idea that maybe… maybe there is something to find with Loki, that maybe… he would want something back.

Thor needs to tell him, even if it’s a lost cause, even if Loki doesn’t even know who he really is.

He needs to let it out.

**_x x x_ **

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Sat Dec 23 2017, 00:52 a.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_I thought for a while yesterday. I ended up realising that I like you. A lot._

Loki gasps audibly at that, the thought breathing starfire in his veins.

A furious blush blooms on his face when he reads that first sentence, dark and exploding everywhere on his cheeks, along the curve of his nose, dipping low around the thick veins of his neck.

_I don’t think I deserve all the attention you have given me. I’m so sorry about last time. I hope I can make it up to you somehow, someday… when I’m able to explain everything that has happened._

_I guess change is in the air, and I need to grasp it to be a better person._

_I just needed to tell you. You don’t have to reply if you aren’t comfortable with it. I will understand if that’s the case._

_Take care of yourself, dear friend._

Answering takes Loki the whole Sunday, hours lost between thinking about his friend’s message and busying himself with various tasks around his flat in order not to think.

He can’t say he didn’t expect it, far from it; it’s not like he hasn’t thought about feelings and _pirateangel_ in the same sentence either, but having this message presenting the dreaded _I like you_ like this makes him…

Uneasy. Scared.

 _Happy_.

Loki blinks, clearing his head and pushing away all his thoughts to focus on cleaning his shower, but it’s a lost cause, seeing how his brain keeps filling with what ifs.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Sat Dec 24 2017, 08:07 p.m._

_Re: Advice_

_Dear friend,_

_It doesn’t come as a surprise that you sent me this message, and yet… yet I don’t know how to reply to it. Six months ago, when you and I first met, I thought I knew everything about myself, what I would be doing for the rest of my life and even the person I would end up with._

_Now… now, I know nothing._

_I don’t know if I like you or if I am just desperate for attention, for love._

He suddenly stops and remembers the sign on the shop, the letters printed black and bold, the sidewalk feeling like dust under his feet and the jingle of the bell through the night as Loki had carried it away.

**_After 42 years by your side, we are closing our doors. We have loved being part of your lives._ **

_I think I like you, but I need time. I hope we can still talk._

_Take care of yourself too, dear friend, and Merry Christmas._

**_x x x_ **

Things don’t really get any worse or better from there, and that’s alright with Loki. Christmas passes in a blur where he mostly enjoys life’s little pleasures, wine and cakes. New Year’s Eve is just him, Sif and Leia watching old James Stewart films with a big bowl of popcorn and some champagne on the side.

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Jan 1 2018, 12:21 a.m._

_Re: Happy New Year_

_Dear friend,_

_Happy New Year! I hope you had a nice evening and enjoyed yourself during Christmas, too._

_I’m getting worried since you haven’t been writing. I hope you are alright._

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon Jan 1 2018, 03:33 p.m._

_Re: Happy New Year_

_Dear friend,_

_Happy New Year to you too. Thank you for thinking of me._

_I’m sorry I haven’t been writing. I have a bad cold. My nose is clogged, my ears are blocked and I’m feeling really terrible. I keep listening to sad music in bed (The National, if you know them?) while drinking tea. I keep thinking about my future. What future? What am I going to do?_ _  
_

Loki sighs at himself when he reads the sentence again. It makes him sound so pathetic and he hates it, but that’s how it is. He has been listening to The National on loop for days while making himself hot black tea with lemon juice and honey to soften the taste and his throat, surrounded by a bed of used tissues and old boxes of instant soup.

He feels like death warmed over and tries his best not to stay in bed all day, though not being in bed means he just sprawls over his couch and sleeps there with Leia on his stomach, purring him away to dreamland. Sometimes he ends up watching Jeopardy for hours on end, answers pouring out of his mouth along with coughs and sniffs.

It’s a little past eleven in the morning the next day when the doorbell rings.

Loki squints at his phone in bed.

No text from Hela, or Sif, or Sigyn, even less from Clint. They always text him to ask if they can come up and see him whenever the occasion presents itself. Thus, it can’t possibly be any of them.

Nobody outside of his friends circle said they would visit him recently, either. Is it the mailman, then? But why? He didn’t order anything, and he definitely has no pressing mail to be handed.

Before he can think, there is a second ring, and then another.

With a groan, Loki gets up and wraps himself in his blanket. He makes his way through his bedroom and through the living room before answering the intercom.

“Who is it?” he asks, voice rough and nose clogged.

“Thor Odinson,” the other end replies.

 _Oh great, just great,_ Loki thinks in a mix of annoyance and frustration.

“What are you doing here?”

Thor seems to laugh on the other end of the intercom, much to Loki’s irritation. It’s not a mocking laugh, though. It’s a soft, gentle one. “Can I come up, please?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Loki says. He hears a tiny click and some more noise but brushes them off. “I have a terrible cold, can’t you hear it? I will contaminate you. I’m sniffling and not really awake and I’ve been sleeping so much. Look, I would really appreciate it if you came back some other day—”

There’s a knock on his door.

Loki jumps out of his skin until his heart settles enough he can look through the peephole.

Thor Odinson. With flowers.

_For Loki?_

“Loki?”

“Just a second,” Loki answers in a rush, looking frantically around him. He’s just in his pyjamas and a blanket. That won’t do. That _definitely_ won’t do.

Oh god, what should he do?

He throws his blanket back on his bed and cleans up his living room as quickly as possible, picking up scattered used tissues and dirty mugs of tea at the speed of light.

Last, but not least, he finds a robe to wrap himself into so Thor doesn’t have to see his fluffy—filthy—pyjamas, but there’s nothing he can do about his days-old unwashed hair.

Well. He will survive, he supposes. He could decide not to answer the door, but Loki feels like it would be a dick move to do so. Thor probably isn’t here to taunt him or anything of the sort, and Loki is almost sure they can have a civil conversation without strangling each other.

Also?

Thor _never stops_ being hot, so he can’t exactly complain about it.

Opening his front door slowly, Loki finds Thor smiling with a bunch of flowers wrapped in paper and a card attached to them.

“Hello,” Thor says gently.

Loki frowns. “What are you doing here?”

There’s nothing harsh or biting in his tone, just plain confusion at Thor’s presence.

“I heard you were sick and I wanted to make sure you were okay— _wait._ Is someone else here?”

Thor cranes his neck a little to see into Loki’s flat, looking for the source of the voices he can hear from afar.

“Just watching reruns of Jeopardy,” Loki explains with a sigh. He rubs his forehead. “Look, Thor. I’m too tired to fight, but you do realise you put me out of business?”

“I know that,” Thor answers mournfully.

“And now you turn up with flowers? Did you come here to gloat?”

Thor shakes his head firmly. “No.”

Something uncurls in Loki’s stomach. He knew that Thor wouldn’t do something like that. Weirdly, the thought is reassuring.

“Then why? Did you come to offer me a job?”

“No, I wouldn’t think of it—”

“Because, you know, I have plans,” Loki cuts through the other man’s sentence. “I have lots of offers. I’ve been offered a job by your sister, actually.”

Thor grunts a little at that, holds the flowers a little tighter in his hand. “Yeah, I know. Angela told me.”

“You seem bothered. Are you jealous?” Loki asks as he cocks his head to the side and grins. “You definitely are siblings. Same ways of trying to win me over with your stupid charming smiles—”

Loki claps his hand over his mouth.

“God, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” He swallows. “No matter what you have done to me, there’s no excuse for my saying anything like that. But… every time I see you, I’m torn between—”

_Between frustration and desire. Between attraction and annoyance._

“Things like that just seem to fly out of your mouth,” Thor smiles, a little tight but overall amused.

“I’m sorry. Let me start over.” Loki clears his throat and smiles back at Thor, forced. “Thank you for coming. Goodbye.”

God, it sounds so harsh. He hates it.

He tries again, a little more nicely. “Thank you for coming,” and he actually does sound sincere this time, starting to the door. “Goodbye.” 

Thor glances down at his hands where the flowers are. “I bought you these.”

 _Oh. So they were definitely for me?_ Loki thinks, and warmth blooms in his stomach.

“Thank you,” and he takes them from Thor before he takes them back. Loki frowns, trying to reach out for the flowers again but Thor shakes his head.

“Why don’t I put them in water?”

He heads for the kitchen and checks the electric kettle, puts it on while Loki stares after him until he decides to follow.

“You should sit down,” Thor says, turning over to glance at Loki. “You’re sick.”

He pulls out a chair at that and Loki surprisingly doesn’t fight and sits down. He feels a little woozy, a little out of it, and he actually is grateful for Thor’s gentle ways.

“Vase?” Thor asks.

Loki nods at the shelves. “Upper left.”

As he gets the vase out and fills it with water, Thor continues to make small talk. “Clint says hello. He’s the one who told me you weren’t feeling well.”

Loki smiles. “How’s Clint?”

“Oh, he’s great,” Thor smiles. He unwraps the paper around the flowers and puts them in the vase, arranging them gently. Loki realises they’re orchids, and his heart misses a beat. “He’s revolutionizing the place, to be honest! No one is allowed to work at my bookstore if they don’t have a Ph.D. in literature.”

“You brought orchids,” Loki blurts out, amazed, completely brushing aside the rest of Thor’s sentence. “I love orchids.”

Thor’s eyes crinkle at that. “You told me as much.”

“They really are pretty.” Loki can’t help staring at them when Thor puts the vase on the kitchen table. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Loki swallows thickly. “No, I don’t… I don’t mean it like that. I was horrible, the other day at the cafe. I’m sorry.”

“You were charming,” Thor murmurs. “Tea?”

Loki frowns. “Upper right.” A beat. “Charming? I wasn’t charming.”

“Well, you _looked_ charming,” Thor clarifies. He gets out the mugs and teabags out of the shelf and pours water in them, avoiding Loki’s gaze.

“I was so upset. I was horrible to you.” 

Thor waves it off. “Honey?”

Loki nods, watches Thor puts in two spoonfuls of it before giving it to him.

“No, _I_ was horrible, Loki,” Thor eventually answers.

“True,” Loki sighs. “But _I_ have no excuse.”

He gets up and picks up the orchids to carry them over to his living room, putting them gently on the polished surface of his coffee table, followed by Thor and the mugs from where steam emanates.

They both sit down, and Thor chuckles.

“Whereas I am a horrible person and have no choice but to be horrible, is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t—no, that’s not what I meant,” Loki says, opening wide eyes and clasping his hand over his mouth once again. “I am done saying horrible things, even to you, because I realised—”

“You did it again,” Thor laughs.

Loki can’t stop clasping his hand over his mouth today, it seems.

Thor shrugs, sips on his tea. Sighs. “I put you out of business. You’re entitled to hate me, Loki.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Loki rushes in. He surprises himself by doing that so quickly, so fast. 

“But you’ll never forgive me,” Thor says. “Like Elizabeth.”

“Who?”

“Elizabeth Bennet in _Pride and Prejudice._ She was too proud—”

“I thought you would be the kind of man to hate _Pride and Prejudice._ ” 

Thor smiles fondly. “Actually, I love that book. I love Jane Austen.” He pauses and gives Loki a regretful look. “Look, it wasn’t personal.”

“ _It was business_ ,” Loki quotes as he rolls his eyes. “I know. What is that supposed to mean, anyway? I’m so sick of it. All it means is that it’s not personal to you, but it _is_ personal to me. It’s personal to a lot of people, actually.”

For a while, he gazes at his mug of tea, tries to find something in the brown mess laced with honey. He isn't angry. He’s tired. He’s full of thoughts and doubts and sparks of hope, too. Everything is a mess in his head.

Maybe he just needs to try. To reach out. To let go of his old pains and griefs to start over.

Loki ends up pulling a blanket up on his lap, offering another plaid to Thor who looks at him in confusion.

“Wanna watch Jeopardy with me?”

**_x x x_ **

“For double Jeopardy, here’s our first category: children’s books and literature.” 

Loki takes a sharp intake of breath and grins. “Oh, my favourite.”

“Watch me crush you to the ground on that one,” Thor replies, sipping happily on his too sweet of a tea.

On tv, a woman named Margareth chooses the first category. “400$ for Children’s books and literature, please.”

“This author wrote the very popular _Mathilda_ and _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ ,” the host says, and lightning crashes through Loki’s veins.

“It’s Roald Dahl!” Thor and Loki scream at the same time.

For a moment, they look at each other as the show keeps on going behind them, the woman answering quickly with “Who is Roald Dahl?”

Thor ends up tilting his head to the side, studying Loki carefully. “You really do love him.” 

“He was my mother’s favourite author,” Loki explains. A small smile curls on his lips. “The last book she asked for at the hospital was _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. She said it was making her sugar levels explode.”

There’s a hint of sadness there, though it quickly dissolves and Loki is only left with the memory of his mother smiling and laughing. It’s the image he wants to keep, the good memory that steps on what the illness did to her. It feels right. Feels even better when Thor laughs at that instead of pitying him or looking worried.

Swallowing another coughing fit, Loki stares down at the bottom of his mug, absorbed by the brown ring left in there.

“Why did you stop by?” he asks quietly.

Thor’s answer comes easily. “I wanted to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

Thor chuckles. “Yes, surprising, isn’t it? I knew it wasn’t possible. What can I say? Sometimes someone wants the impossible. That’s me today.”

Before Loki can reply—there’s the tug of “it’s not impossible to be my friend” on his tongue, and once again, it confuses him to be feeling this way—Thor adds: “could I ask you something?”

“Do tell.”

“What happened with that guy at the cafe?”

“Nothing,” Loki says flatly. He looks to the side, catches a glimpse of the orchids at the corner of his eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“But you’re… you like him?”

“Yes, I do. I guess?”

Thor raises an eyebrow. “What happened? Did he stand you up?”

Loki nods quickly and reaches out for the pocket of his robe to grab a tissue to blow his clogged nose. 

“Maybe he had a good reason for it? Did he ever get back to you?”

Once again, Loki nods, still blowing his nose which is turning as red as Rudolph the Reindeer's.

“I’m happy for him,” Thor tells him, and Loki makes a face behind his tissue. Is… Thor Odinson saying that he finds Loki _attractive_? “Although. Could I make a suggestion? I think you should meet him. I mean, try again.”

“I hardly think I need advice from someone who—”

Loki reaches out and clasps his hand over his mouth for, what, the third, fourth time today? He just can’t help it! He can’t help being sharp and witty with Thor, it simply _is_ this way. And Thor doesn’t even seem bothered!

He grins. The idiot _grins_. “I concede I bring out the worst in you.”

It’s surprising, how charming Thor is. Not that surprising, really, because Loki has always found him charming and handsome and easy to listen to—it just feels… unexpected, to be affected this positively by this man Loki thought he hated.

He smiles and removes his hand from his mouth. They look at each other, no words needed.

For the first time since Loki discovered who Thor really was, he appreciates his presence. Truly does. And the thought doesn’t even give him the creeps, or bother him. It’s warm. It’s gentle. It’s new.

It feels right.

It feels like a new beginning.

“I hope you feel better soon,” Thor says gently as he stands up, breaking the moment. “It would be a shame to miss New York covered in snow.”

“Thank you for the orchids,” Loki smiles, leaving his mug on the coffee table to stand up too. Thor is already at the door when he says that, and he turns to Loki and smiles back.

“Take care, Loki.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye. Until next time?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Loki replies with a wink, exactly what Thor said that day at the bookstore.

As soon as the door closes, Loki runs to his bedroom and grabs his phone, texting Sif and Hela.

**_Loki (01:09 p.m)_ **

_I think Thor Odinson just visited me, bought me flowers (and not just flowers, ORCHIDS) and made me tea._

_Oh, and we watched Jeopardy together._

**_x x x_ **

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Wed Jan 10 2018, 08:59 a.m._

_Re: Let’s try again_

_Dear friend,_

_I have been thinking about it and I think we should meet. We should try again._

_Are you game?_

Loki clicks the “send” button and closes his Chrome tab with a sigh of relief, mouse pointer already on the _Word_ icon on his Dock.

Goes to _File: New,_ and faces the stare of the blank page for a few seconds only before he gets to work.

_Once upon a time, there was a little girl named…_

He pauses and looks around the room for inspiration.

Suddenly, his eyes find Thor’s orchids, and Loki smiles.

_Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Orchid…_

**_x x x_ **

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Wed Jan 10 2018, 08:17 p.m._

_Re: Let’s try again_

_Dear friend,_

_We should meet, and we will meet, but… I’m in the middle of a project that needs… tweaking? And so, I think we should wait a little._

_But we will definitely meet. I promise._

**_x x x_ **

“Tweaking?” Thor asks after taking a sip of his flat white and picking at his cinnamon roll with his fork the next time they meet in late February.

They’re sitting next to a window at Starbucks, Thor having spotted Loki there while passing by. He decided to join him and instead of feeling annoyed, Loki actually welcomed his presence with a smile and warmth in his voice.

Loki wipes his mouth with his paper napkin, puts back his brownie on his plate and nods. “Well, that’s what he said.”

“He’s probably married.”

Loki sighs deeply. “That’s a terrible thing to say. It’s not possible, he isn’t like that.”

Thor’s eyebrow raises up. “Like what? Have you asked him if he’s married? As in, really asked him directly? If you didn’t, he probably brushed it aside and pretended not to be.”

Later that night, Loki sits in bed with Leia on his feet and his laptop on his lap, a scowl etched into his face.

_From: agent_of_asgard_

_To: pirateangel_

_Posted: Fri Feb 23 2018, 11:43 p.m._

_Re: Let’s try again_

_Dear friend,_

_I know this is probably a little late to be asking this, but, are you married?_

Thor answers the next morning as he sits in his office, grinning. 

_You’re such a little shit, Odinson. You’re having too much fun at his expense._

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Sat Feb 24 2018, 09:07 a.m._

_Re: Let’s try again_

_Dear friend,_

_Am I married? What kind of question is that? Sorry to say but how can you ask me that? We’ve been friends for so long. I would have told you if I were married._

_Oh, wait._

_I get it._

_Your friends are worried about our relationship and they’re asking you if I’m married because we still haven’t met._

_Right?_

**_x x x_ **

Thor pushes a handful of nachos in his mouth, much to Loki’s disgust.

“So he didn’t exactly answer,” Thor says around his mouthful, cheese leaking a little on his lower lip. Loki’s nose scrunches at that and he reaches out with his napkin to dab at Thor’s mouth.

“Cheese,” he mumbles when Thor frowns, and he puts the napkin back on the table before taking a bite of his quesadilla. “He sort of did, though? He nailed me because he knows me so well. It’s just like him to answer like this.” 

Thor stares at him intently for a second and crosses his arms around his chest. “But he didn’t answer your question.”

Loki flushes a soft pink. “No,” he says, voice low and quiet.

“Maybe he’s ugly,” Thor suggests, far too amused for his own good. Loki hates it.

He grunts. “As if I cared about that.”

“You don’t care that he might be ugly and almost bald and full of wrinkles?”

Loki rolls his eyes this time and digs into the plate of nachos they are sharing. “That’s very unlikely.”

“Why else would he be putting off meeting you? You still don’t know if he’s married or not.”

“He’s not married!”

“Well, he never really answered that one,” Thor scoffs, finishing his burrito. “Maybe… Maybe…”

Loki squints at him, starting to look puzzled. “What?”

Thor shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“What?!” Loki presses on, frustrated.

“He could be a serial killer and planning his next move on you.”

Loki stares back at Thor with big eyes before a laugh bubbles all the way up in his throat. “What is it with people and serial killers? Clint thought he might be the Internet Date Killer, which was so stupid—”

His voice trails off, though, as he considers whether it could be true, and he clears his throat.

Thor hides a smile behind his hand, one that Loki doesn’t notice.

“What’s his handle, then?”

Loki throws him a look that tells Thor everything, and Thor chuckles. He brushes aside his glass of water and glances at Loki. “Come on, I’m not asking so I can send him a message. Just tell me, I’m curious.”

“Fine,” Loki groans. “It’s _pirateangel_.”

Thor grins up at him. “Oh, so he thinks he is as smart as a pirate and as beautiful as an angel? That’s one confident man.”

“I like to think he’s one fine man, unlike—”

“ _—me_ ,” Thor finishes for him with a smirk. He doesn’t even look wounded.

Loki gasps. “I didn’t say that!”

“But you were about to,” Thor smiles from ear to ear. “Gotcha.”

**_x x x_ **

“Look, his handle might be cheesy and stupid as hell but it’s okay. The only thing I really care about besides the fact that he might be married is… well. The serial killer thing. And the boat thing.”

Thor’s eyebrow shoots up. “The boat thing?”

“I could never be with someone with a boat,” Loki replies quickly, sneaking a glance sideways to the stands they are passing by on the Broadway Farmer’s Market, full of flowers and vegetables and fruits. And cheese. And bread. And everything else Loki loves.

They keep walking through the stalls of the farmer’s market slowly, looking, smelling everything.

“Oh. I have a boat,” Thor simply says, taken aback, breath caught in his chest.

Loki pauses at a dried fruit stand to buy candied coconut and apple cinnamon bits, handing a plastic bag full with strawberries to Thor who isn’t paying attention, face troubled and eyes searching.

“I know you like those,” Loki says gently. “It’s to thank you for the flowers.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Thor is caught off guard by the bag showing up in front of him. His cheeks grow warm and his face splits into a smile, sunny and delighted.

“You didn’t even have to thank me.”

Loki’s stomach flips a little, but he brushes it off and smiles instead. “I wanted to.” Another beat and he watches Thor squeeze a mango on the next stand. He thinks about what Thor has said before this. “So that clinches it. We'll never be together since you have a boat.”

“Well, I could never be with anyone who likes The National, I guess,” Thor says under his breath before jumping to singing and imitating Matt Berninger. “It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders, it's a terrible love that I'm walking in, it's quiet company.” What does that even mean? Are spiders quiet company because they’re bugs?”

“Spiders aren’t bugs, they’re arachnids,” Loki retorts faintly, and to Thor’s surprise, that’s the only thing he says. He doesn’t comment on the rest, simply stares intently at apples on the stand and starts picking them, trying hard to find a bunch of them that suit his taste.

They don’t talk for a while, Loki sorting through his apples and Thor picking up his mango. They exchange looks at times but Loki quickly glances away to focus on the fruits before him. Weirdly, in these brief moments, Thor feels frozen and trapped under the weight of Loki’s eyes, as if he knew.

Knew who Thor really is.

“How’s your book coming along?” he ends up asking so as to break the silence as they walk away from the market. The sun is set high today and kisses their skin with a gentle warmth Thor adores. It’s only early March but it feels like spring already.

Loki pops a piece of coconut in his mouth and chews on it slowly. “My sister and I know a children’s book editor from the store and she’s interested in giving it a look when it’s finished.” He grabs another piece of coconut in the plastic bag, breaks it in half with his teeth. “I can’t believe I have all this free time to write. I can’t even believe I’m writing!”

Right there, on the pavement, Loki stops, hand in the air with the other bit of coconut clutched between his fingers.

“Something the matter?” Thor asks with a hint of worry dancing in his voice.

“I just…” Loki starts, swallowing. “The truth is, he’s the who made me start thinking about writing—”

“Mister Angel, who’s also a pirate?”

Loki lets out a chuckle. “Mister Pirate, who’s also my guardian angel.”

A shaking laugh bubbles out of Thor’s throat. “Well, I can’t exactly compete with that, can I?”

A weird electric feeling passes through Loki. What does Thor mean? He’s been hitting at the fact that he might… like Loki, today, and the thought is both endearing and confusing.

Has he been interested in Loki during all this time and only letting it out now?

“Mango’s ripe,” Thor’s voice breaks through his reverie and Loki shakes himself back to present. “How about we bump into each other on Saturday around lunchtime? We need to get an answer as to whether your friend is married or not.” 

He adds a wink to his sentence and Loki can’t help giggling.

It’s such a strange feeling to be on friendly terms with someone he thought he hated for so long, someone he had so much anger for.

Now… things are—

Different. Easier. Comfortable.

**_x x x_ **

“I mean, you’re pretty much having dates with Thor Odinson now,” Sif tells Loki on the phone a few days later.

She sounds half-pissed, half-happy. But mostly happy.

“We’re not having dates,” Loki says, sitting on the couch with Leia purring on his lap, a bowl of soup on his coffee table. “He’s—well. He’s a good friend, now.”

Sif chuckles on the other side of the line. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“Hey, he’s not half bad,” Loki retorts. “He’s actually really nice when you get to know him.”

“ _He’s actually really nice when you get to know him,_ ” Sif mimics, mocking.

Loki bursts out laughing. “Fuck off, Sif.”

**_x x x_ **

_From: pirateangel_

_To: agent_of_asgard_

_Posted: Mon March 19 2018, 10:11 p.m._

_Re: Let’s try again_

_Dear friend,_

_How about meeting on Saturday? It will the first Saturday of spring. Let’s say… 4 p.m. There’s this path that curves in Riverside Park at 88th Street. You will find me waiting around that curve with Fenrir._

  _I am excited, my friend._

**_x x x_ **

Loki stuffs more hotdog into his mouth, relishing in the taste of hot mustard and sweet ketchup on this tongue.

“Today?” Thor gasps, almost spilling his bubble tea on Loki.

“Today,” Loki answers with a grin.

“Whoa. Are you ready?”

Loki thinks for a moment, shrugs, sips on his own drink and chews on a tapioca pearl. “I have to be, right? I don’t want to put this off any longer. We’re meeting in Riverside Park.”

“That’s amazing! Maybe I’ve seen him before and I don’t even know it.”

They keep walking with their hotdogs and drinks, the warm spring air a gentle touch against their skin.

“He really did wait until you were ready, didn’t he,” Thor murmurs around his straw. “Until you knew there was no other man you could ever love.”

Loki lets out a huff of breath and something close to a laugh, though it isn’t quite so.

“We just both needed some time. Don’t be so dramatic.”

There’s a beat and Loki hums quietly when his phone rings, grabbing it in his pocket. Two messages.

One from Hela:

**_Hela (02:12 p.m)_ **

_I hope Sexy Pirate isn’t a serial killer and won’t murder you. In case, please text me after you’ve met because I want to know if I have to call the police right away or not._

_Love you, brother._

And one from Sif:

**_Sif (03:35 p.m)_ **

_Brunnhilde actually turned up at my door with flowers and a card she made herself._

_I think she took example on your excellent friend Thor, and, well._

_It wasn’t half-bad._

_Really wasn’t._

_Pretty cool, actually._

_PS: good luck with Sexy Pirate!_

“Sometimes I wonder…”

All of a sudden, Thor stops and looks at Loki, pausing. Loki looks up from his phone stares back in confusion.

“What? Sorry, I got a text and I didn’t pay attention,” Loki apologises, shoving his phone back in his pocket, heart warm and pleased at the texts he received.

Thor licks his lips. “Well, if I hadn’t been Odinson Books and you hadn’t been The Shop Around the Corner and we had just met—”

“Thor, don’t.”

Thor shakes his head and keeps going. “I would have asked for your phone number and we would have gone on a date if you had wanted it. And things would have been different.”

It does weird things to Loki’s heart and whole body to hear Thor speak like that, about all these potential paths and roads they could have taken or lived through.

“Thor, it’s—”

“And then we would never have been at war. I wish we hadn’t, and that the only fight we would ever have is about what film to watch on Saturday night and what to order at that Mexican place you love.”

“Who fights about that?” Loki smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He tries to lighten the mood, and luckily, Thor catches it and chuckles.

“Some people do! But not us, then.”

Loki nods. “We would never.”

There’s a long beat, a lingering moment where Thor and Loki simply stare at each other, at the drinks and hotdogs in each other’s hands, at the tension that run through their bodies.

“If only…” Thor says, breaking the silence.

Loki squeezes his eyes shut tightly and shakes his head. “Please, Thor. I have to go.”

He doesn’t move, though. Stays there. Stuck. Glued to the pavement, throat aching.

If only...

“I wish you could forgive me,” Thor says, and suddenly his tone is a chill Loki feels down to the bone.

It occurs to Loki, right there and then, that he has already forgiven Thor. He has forgiven him everything and made peace with himself, with his anger and grief; and he wants to say it, to say, _I forgive you_ , but it doesn’t come.

It never does.

They stand there for a bit more, and Thor’s sight is both a blessing and a heartbreak.

“I really have to go,” Loki eventually lets out, voice thick.

Thor only smiles.

 _Why aren’t you fighting back?_ Loki tells himself, almost bitter, almost disappointed. _Please fight back. If only for my sake—_

“Of course,” comes Thor’s voice along a curl of lips. “You don’t want to be late.”

There’s something strange in there, a hint of mischief, of an untold secret.

Loki wonders what it is all about while agony pounds in his head.

“ _Thor—_ ”

But Thor is already turning his back to him and walking away, and Loki’s voice gets lost in the slight breeze.

After a moment, Loki walks away and doesn’t look back, heart going crazy in his chest.

**_x x x_ **

Looking at himself in the mirror, Loki realises his hands are trembling a little over the black fabric of his jeans.

_Could he be—_

He shakes his head.

_No. It can’t be. He could never._

On the other side of his bedroom, Leia yawns on his bed and the alarm clock shows 3:50 p.m. in red bold letters. 

It’s time.

**_x x x_ **

The entrance to the park glows with the late afternoon sun, golden and molten on the grey pavement. People are laughing and enjoying their first ice creams of the season, smiles scattered everywhere and loaded with the happiness of new days.

As he comes down a path in the park, Loki stops and glances at the flowers blooming, at the birds busying themselves in trees, at the life happening around him.

A young woman is running and passes him by, iPhone clutched in her hands and headphones on; a couple drinks from a single Starbucks cup as they push a baby in their stroller.

_Life._

It makes Loki smile despite the thunder rumbling in his stomach. 

He takes a look at his phone’s screen. Four already.

Suddenly, there’s a noise. A dog barking, and footsteps.

“Fenrir!” a voice calls out from behind the dog. A voice that Loki has heard so many times already, a voice he has recorded in his head. A voice he knows so well.

Loki glances at him from where he is standing, and his heart clenches at the sight awaiting him.

_Thor._

_Pirateangel_ has always been Thor Odinson.

Their eyes eventually meet and Thor holds his gaze, face split by a tender smile.

_He knew, and he made sure… he made sure I loved him before this all happened._

As Thor walks toward Loki, their eyes don’t break apart. They hold onto each other, unable to look away.

It only takes the other man a couple minutes to come around but it feels like an eternity to Loki.

Thor steps forward until he’s a foot away, near enough to touch, and he does. He takes a step closer and Loki doesn’t hesitate to kiss him, and Thor kisses back, a little rough, a little desperate. Slowly, hesitantly, he brings up his hand to Loki’s hair and pushes back the dark locks, tucking them behind an ear and brushing his cheek in the process. 

”I wanted it to be you,” Loki says with sobs in his voice, his throat blossoming with tenderness and love. ”I wanted it to be _you_ so badly.”

”Don’t cry, _agent_of_asgard,_ ” Thor replies as he smiles softly at Loki. He brushes a thumb over his cheekbone, slides down a little to kiss Loki with all that he has, handing him his heart on a silver plate with no regrets. There is a safety here, in the warmth of his nickname rolling off Thor’s tongue, that he recognises and keeps close to his heart. The kiss brings supernovas to Loki’s skin, galaxies detonating inside his veins.

_It’s you. It’s always been you._

The minute the other man’s lips leave his, Loki pulls Thor back to him and kisses him long and proper again. His fingers rest on Thor’s neck where they seem to fit so perfectly, the flushed coral pink of his mouth finding grace upon his own.

He bites at his lower lip, sharp, full of desire and wanting nothing else but this man to admire him and want him like roses craving sunlight. The afternoon swoons and he learns to hope again at the taste of Thor’s tongue on his, in his mouth, bumping against his teeth.

Loki runs his thumb across his skin until he's touching Thor’s mouth, pushing a little on the bottom lip. He chuckles and caresses his hair gently, fondly exasperated.

Thor grins and leans in again for another kiss; it’s everything that Loki has ever wanted, that warmth, that smile that opens up his lungs and allows him to breathe; that voice that echoes and stays long after the lights are gone.

Clinging to each other, they stay like this for a while, feeding off the other’s energy with the gentle hum of spring swirling in the air. 

“I love you,” Loki says, and presses his forehead against Thor’s.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Thor grins, too happy with himself. “I love you too.”

Loki kisses Thor within every inch of his life, laughing and tender and shaking.

**_x x x_ **

"Fuck," Loki moans as Thor presses him hard into the wall of Thor's flat and explores his neck with the soft heat of his tongue, lips parting to lave and suck at the junction of neck and shoulder there—tiny licks at first, growing into thunder and warmth. "Thor, please—you—"

Thor frowns as he stares into his eyes, hands settled securely on Loki's hips, possessive.

"Fuck me," Loki manages to croak out in between pleasure and excitement as desire grows. "I need to—" and he buries his face in Thor's neck and nips at the skin, teeth sinking into the rough flesh, "need you. So badly."

"Loki," Thor breathes out, barely manages to hold himself upright with Loki's tongue against his skin. "Of course.”

They stumble into Thor’s living room, and Thor is pushed on his large couch by Loki who crawls on him and Thor thinks he's _dying_.

"I want to worship you for hours," Thor murmurs, harsh and rough as Loki sucks on his neck again, and Thor’s hands sink into his ass, fingers slipping past the layers of clothing and touching the smooth skin. "Want to mark you everywhere."

There's a hint of mischief glinting in Loki's eyes at that when he lifts his head up. "We have time, tonight, you know,” and he leans forward and kisses Thor again and again, his tongue curling inside his partner’s mouth hungrily; Thor’s hold on his ass tightens and with a slow thrust of his hips, Loki's clothed cock grinds against Thor’s.

“I love you,” Thor exhales, his breath hitching close upon the dark-haired man’s lips.

“Thor,” Loki chuckles softly, powdered pink blooming on his cheeks, and it’s such an adorable thing to Thor because he _loves_ seeing Loki blush and it’s _delightful_ to see him like this. “I love you too.”

Thor gives Loki a particularly harsh bite, teeth scraping leisurely on his lower lip. “I knew I fucked up and I didn’t know how to reach out to you and that was extremely distressing, knowing you through the Internet and being unable to be with you in real life.”

“You _really_ did piss me off,” Loki confesses as he lets out a low sigh while grinding down on Thor’s thighs, his legs braced on either side of him. “But there was always something about you. Always.”

Thor’s breath stops in his throat. He stares for a long while at Loki's bright green eyes and wonders if the universe was born there—his tousled hair, the sweet, sweet flush of his cheeks, his sun-baked kisses and those eyes, those wide eyes that want to devour Thor alive.

He nods slowly, doesn’t need to talk; leans closer, and Loki's body presses Thor into the couch, heavy and hot and wanting as their mouths meet, opened-mouthed and panting and almost dripping, Loki pushing more of his weight into the older man. Thor slips his fingers on his hips, one hand to each side of his waist to press him further forward, a palm to his spine and Loki is leaning into him even more, so close, so impossibly close he wants to cry at the sweet closure.

His gasoline curls pool out on his shoulders, and Thor starts reading his body with his mouth and fingers, pausing at his freckles and moles, his touch firm and protective—searching, soft and quick all the same; a strong tongue reaching out for a flesh he is discovering, this road leading to a peachy throat and creamy thighs he wants to know by heart as time will pass; the tightness of him that Thor can’t wait to discover, the blazing heat hidden between his cheeks, the broken moans spilling from bitten lips—Loki being the score he could never forget about, notes and instruments melting together forever. 

 _He loves him._  

He has no doubt about this anymore.

Not even an ounce of a doubt.

The couch creaks a little as Loki moves against his thighs, up and down, face hidden in Thor’s throat. Nothing to hide, spreading himself wide for more pressure, more of this; he gets light headed at the sincerity he finds there.  

“Please,” and Loki's voice is small and shaking, head dipping to press kisses to Thor’s hot neck, breathing labored and warm. “Thor, come on—”

Loki throws his head back, just as Thor stops his hips from moving with his hands, an eyebrow raised and a grin plastered on his face, pushing forward, focusing on the delicious friction and Loki begging.

“Thor,” he moans again, broken and unable to function properly, “Thor, please— _please—”_  

“Shh,” Thor soothes him with a hand rubbing up and down his back before dipping lower again on his ass, fingers slipping past his clothes and underwear to have a grasp on the tempting flesh. “I know sweetheart, I know. I’m here.” 

The words seem to calm his partner down, as well as the grounding grip upon him. Loki breathes a sigh of relief into Thor’s mouth when he lifts his head again to face his lips, happy to be surrounded by the sight, smell, and body of that man who finally admitted to being in love with him, who finally admitted to being the one his heart fell for so many months ago; _at last._

Black strands catch the red-coloured sunlight of the windy afternoon that filters through the curtains and Thor thinks, _I could get used to staying here all my life. I could get used to having him all my life like this, riding me and looking so gorgeous._

 _I would. I could._  

_I want to. Even if I’m damaged, even if I might fall, even if I might lose him._

_I want to._

He curls his other arm around Loki's lower back to prop him up; his leg hurts, but he ignores the slight pain. “Let’s get rid of this,” Thor mumbles as their lips bump against one another, as he tugs on Loki's belt, and as Loki tugs on the buttons of his crispy white shirt. “You’re much more handsome naked, I’m sure.”

Loki stops, for a second, and Thor looks up, worried that something went wrong, and Loki looks down at him, and he realises Loki's mouth is on his forehead, his breath billowing against the short strands of sun-kissed hair that curl up on his skin.

“You’re breathtaking.”

 _Awe_. 

Awe toward _him._ Awe for Thor Odinson, whom Loki had hated so much for so long.

Thor wants to say something, anything that goes _no, you are the one who is beautiful, you are the one who is gorgeous, I am lucky to have you and to have your forgiveness, my heart is in your hands forever,_ but Loki kisses him then, a quick brand of pressure against his forehead before he goes lower for another kiss that turns heated and wet. 

Thor is back at scrabbling at his belt with impatient hands and pushing Loki's trousers down quickly just as Loki gets him out of his shirt, pressing his rough fingers around his neck.

He’s spring. Loki is spring, the soft greens pushing out of the snow at the end of March, the quiet birds coming back on tree branches, animals waking up after so long.

The heat rises, rasping the air it breaks through, intoxicating, Thor deliberately guiding Loki's hands up over the planes of a toned stomach where softness has started taking a slight hold of. 

“You’re wrong,” Thor whispers as he presses sweet kisses to his lips and savors the feeling of smooth thighs holding his own. “ _You_ are breathtaking.”

Sweet compliments like these never fail to make soft heat bloom upon Loki’s flesh, from the nape of his neck to the wide expanse of his chest, all around his nose and cheeks where freckles find themselves dancing hand-in-hand with tender pink.

Soon, they are almost completely skin to skin when Thor places his left hand on the small of Loki's back, pressing him close until their underwear-clad crotches are pushed against each other's, moving, their bodies hungrily asking for more skin to explore. His scent, a combination of vanilla and warm spices, wafts into his nostrils, and it’s familiar and warm and good, and Thor can’t wait to fall asleep to it; to Loki's soft intakes of breath, to Loki's hair finding its way in his mouth during the night, to Loki being there in his arms.

Thor drinks him in, sucking on his lower lip, breathing in his scent, his everything. He slides his hands under Loki's sweater and lets his fingers spread over his lover’s soft stomach, feeling the muscles shift and tighten at the touch of his calloused digits.

Loki lets out a shuddering breath and grabs Thor’s hand to slip it in his underwear, wraps the fingers around his cock, gripping it firmer than he thinks he should; he’s already hard and leaking and Thor feels warmth pooling in his body that he’s able to make him react like this, so flushed, so wet, so hard. He strokes, rubbing firmly against the flesh, sucks in the moans that fall ceaselessly from Loki's lips as he kisses him wet and heated, breaths stuttering with the strength of Thor’s thrusts, hand slipping messily all over his cock.

“What do you want, baby?” Thor murmurs while biting softly into his jaw, to which Loki only groans and whines impatiently. Thor’s lips trail up higher to press against his cheek and against the thin layer of stubble there. “Shh, calm down, I’m here. Tell me what you want.”

“Thor,” the dark-haired man manages to exhale, his eyes opening to stare deep into his lover’s blown pupils, “fuck me,” and how could Thor not when Loki looks so devastated and desperate to be taken? How could he not when Loki keeps staring at him with eyes greener than leaves blooming under the soft-heated sunlight of fresh spring mornings? How could he not when Loki dips his head lower to whisper, broken and crushed with desire, “own me, I’m yours”?

He sees white.

Hot white and nebulas and skies brighter than sunshine.

Fingers slick with lube and Loki's own precome, Thor finds his entrance and presses a finger against the tight heat. There’s resistance when he pushes, but it’s nothing unexpected, so he takes it slow; he just wants to make him feel good, worthy and loved, and everything else; as long as Loki is happy, even in its most fluttering, ethereal form.

Loki clenches around his finger with a whimper resonating low in his throat and Thor wants to wreck him, right there, to make him scream and come undone, but he takes his time.

He breathes into the hollow of Loki’s neck while licking a stripe from his jaw to his chest; his teeth graze over a nipple and Loki's hips buck up suddenly as Thor’s tongue curls around it, finger pumping in and out with slick, and soon after slips in a second one, sinking in him softly like a stone in the ocean before he sucks a purple mark onto the pale, unmarked skin of his chest.

Loki's arms clench around Thor’s neck, grasping white-knuckled and tight.

A soft sob.

More sobs.

Thor lifts his head up to him, whispers in his ear between soft kisses to his face, all the while still thrusting and crooking his fingers into him.

“Loki? Did I hurt you?”

A muffled sob, this time, edging on a desperate whimper and words Thor cannot understand. It’s so, so unexpected to witness Loki in this state that he almost savors it, somehow, the way he turns into a shuddering heap at every touch.

”More,” he hears, Loki rocking his hips against the fingers opening him up, eyes blurry with pleasure, teeth worrying his lower lip. ”Damn it, _damn it,_ you drive me crazy,” Loki says in a mix of a moan and a whimper. ”Need you, you can, now, please—”

”Baby, no,” Thor murmurs as his other hand draws circles on Loki's hip. ”It’s not enough preparation, you know it.”

”Fuck it, come on,” he groans low and broken, ”I can take it.”

”I bet you can, don’t worry about that,” Thor grins. ”But I don’t want to rush, not today. You’re being so impatient.”

His fingers slide from his hip to his ass, kneading, groping, cupping it and digging in with his fingers, while his tongue finds Loki's as he slowly adds a third finger. Loki's sweet plump mouth falls open in a silent cry around the kiss of that third finger. Fingers slip a little around the sopping mess that his hole is, working him wet and open until it feels good enough for Thor to take the step ahead.

“Lift up,” he murmurs, and Loki steadies himself on his shoulders, carefully not to put too much weight on Thor as he lifts his hips up and fingers slide out of him; his lover presses a wet kiss to his chest, locks his hips in a steady grip. Thor manages to pull off their underwear and slicks himself, puts the tip of his cock inside Loki before pulling out.

It goes on for a while, this slow dance and kind of worship as Thor pushes a little further inside every single time. Loki feels his hole opening and stretching to let Thor in, and he babbles, seemingly past coherence because Thor barely understands anything he says at all, Loki’s legs opening wider still.

Thor can’t help groaning when he sinks in again and shoves himself all the way inside, Loki's tight heat spreading around him, sucking him in, swallowing him whole; his long whimpers laced with “more, please,” make him explode as Thor watches him ride him, split on his cock, seated and delighted.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says quietly. Loki huffs a soft laugh at that, looms over him, hunches himself down a bit to steal a kiss and moans when Thor’s cock pushes up inside of him. He sighs into the kiss Thor presses to his shoulder, his bare cock nestled in his ass, so hard and thick where it spreads his hole open, sending lightning through his limbs.

Thor already knows he is never going to get tired of this. He’s never going to get tired of the way Loki trembles when he kisses his collarbone, when he fucks into him, when he has him like this, helpless and devastated by pleasure.

It doesn’t take them long to increase the rhythm until Thor is pounding hard into Loki; until Loki is happily losing himself in Thor’s thrusts and sweet caresses, sweet whispers made of _you’re beautiful, you’re gorgeous, look at you baby—_

Loki is most vulnerable like this, ripped open and handing his pride to Thor; Loki, oh, beautiful Loki looks on the verge of breaking, his pale skin shining through as freckles turn into constellations. 

The sound of slapping skin fills the quiet apartment, and as waves come so close to the shore and threaten to overtake them, Thor stares right up in Loki's eyes, his thrusts beginning to stutter as the heat in his stomach becomes unbearable. Stars are starting to lick at Loki’s eyes while he clenches hard around Thor’s thick cock, every drag of it inside of him sending chills up his spine, every brush of his prostate pushing him further towards ecstasy.

“I love you,” he pants, holding his gaze. “Loki, I’m sorry—”

“I love you too,” Loki cries. He tangles their fingers together, tries hard to keep his eyes open to watch Thor watch him. “l— _love you,_ Thor, I—”

Loki ends up sobbing, every single nerve sensitive and stimulated, his body pulling tighter and tighter together as he’s being ripped apart and put together at the same time when he finally comes. Thor fucks him through his orgasm, taking him gently through his release, kissing his neck, his rough lips sucking hickeys all over it before he moves to his mouth and swallows his moans in a wet, delightful kiss, and soon he’s coming too, hot and harsh inside Loki. 

He doesn’t pull out right away when he comes, doesn’t for a while; Loki enjoys it, belonging, the spill of his loved one filling him—his hole milks his cock so hard that come leaks out from it for a while, much to Thor’s pleasure. He starts thumbing his rim contently and Loki honestly can’t take it anymore, sensitive as he is, the perky curve of his ass shaken with shivers. The air is musty and smells of sex, of them and for the first time in forever, Loki allows himself to crumble against Thor’s chest, his warm arms tight around his body.

“I’m sorry about the things I said,” Loki says in a low voice. “I was a fool for so long.” A lengthy pause, face smushed in his partner’s body; he buries his nose in Thor’s throat, and his words vibrate when he speaks again. “I never meant to hurt you. I was so selfish because I was scared of losing my mother all over again.” 

Thor’s kisses are soft and tender, delicately placed upon Loki's bright locks of hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m not—I’m not saying this for you to apologise, Thor. I was in so much pain, I needed space. It would be selfish of me to expect you to heal me because you can’t do that. Not your place.” He raises his head; at his lover’s pained expression, he smiles gently. “Don’t give me that look, come on.”

Thor keeps brushing sweaty bangs from the other man’s forehead, tightens his hold on him. “Still, Loki. Now I’m here.”

“I hope you stay,” and the pain that seeps out from his voice clutches at Thor’s heart.

“ _I want_ to stay.”

Fear twists Loki's gut, spills in his stomach like a hopeless creature. “Thor—”

Thor makes sure to capture Loki's gaze before he says, slowly and clearly, “Loki, I want _you_ and I _am_ staying. Stop worrying, baby.”

And—

_Oh._

Loki tilts his head, eyes filled with a joy that Thor hasn’t seen in a long time; reaches out for his face with both hands to cup his jaw as he pulls their lips together, soft and delicate, long and warm with emotions, the slightest hint of tongue tracing across the surface of his lips when Loki pulls away.

**_x x x_ **

“When did you realise it?”

Thor frowns sleepily and rubs his nose in the crook of Loki's neck. “Realise what, baby?” 

“That you loved me?”

He wants to chuckle because, if he is completely honest with himself, he has been waiting for the question for a while; yet, the memories it brings back make his throat tighten.

“Well,” he manages, clearing his throat, unable to get rid of the strain that has formed there, “I saw you behind that window at the cafe, and… _fuck,_ that’s stupid.”

Loki brushes his fingers through Thor’s fair locks and grins. “What?”

Thor props himself up on an elbow against the large mattress of the leather couch, brings a hand to the dark-haired man’s face and caresses his cheek. “All I could think about was that you looked both extremely dumb and incredibly handsome, waiting for me with a rose and a poetry book. And then I thought I couldn’t do this to you. Couldn’t shatter your dreams about _pirateangel._ ”

“ _So that’s why you lied?”_ Loki laughs, and Thor adores the reverberation of these vibrations through his chest, the soft curling of lips against his palm as Loki kisses him there. “You fucker. Modern romance indeed.”

“Nothing like acting like a prick to realise your feelings, right? What’s better than not showing up at the date you were expected to go to?”

Half pain, half sarcasm. Protection and irony altogether, always. Easier to deal with everything that way—to handle life’s weight on every possible occasion.

“God, _Thor,_ ” Loki groans, and he’s trying hard not to laugh because _this is wrong_ and he shouldn’t.

There’s a stretched silence for a moment, though comfortable, Loki almost falls asleep there, Thor curled around him when the older man’s voice rises in the quiet of his living room.

“You looking dumb at the cafe was so endearing.”

Loki bursts out laughing, this time, through the plum-coloured light of dusk.

“Thanks,” he murmurs fondly before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad my being dumb could make you realise your feelings.”

“I didn’t expect any less from someone who enjoys reading Sartre for fun,” Thor retorts, scrunching his nose.

“Hey, Sartre wrote some excellent books,” Loki shots back with a smirk. “Think you’re much better with your _Fifty Shades of Grey_ guilty pleasure, maybe?”

Laughter dances in the air and Thor finds himself embracing Loki until he leans into his side, letting his head rest on Thor’s shoulder this time, his hair faintly damp and smelling like soft spices.

The ticking of the clock goes unnoticed, that night, as Loki sleeps peacefully against him, face smushed in the crook of his neck, and Thor falls asleep to Loki's soothing scent, to the sound of his beating heart and gentle breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really curious to hear about your thoughts on this chapter. Please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I would be delighted to read your reactions!
> 
> Thank you again for the support and I promise to bring the epilogue before the end of the week!
> 
> angryzilla.tumblr.com


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what do you think, baby?”
> 
> Loki looks up from his laptop and smiles apologetically at his boyfriend. “Sorry, what? I was finishing that chapter where Orchid finds her mother again.”
> 
> Thor chuckles and squeezes Loki’s feet lightly from they are propped up on his lap, socks a deep blue with sparks of red.
> 
> “I was asking you if you would like to see my boat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the epilogue, at last! I'm sorry for the wait, I needed a bit of time to pull it off!
> 
> I am so happy and touched by all your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me to hear about your thoughts on the fic. Thank you ever so much for being so supportive!
> 
> The biggest of thank yous goes to my love Rai who helped me pull through this big bang and this epilogue. She's the best wife, my better half, and I couldn't have finished this story without her ♥

“So, what do you think, baby?”

Loki looks up from his laptop and smiles apologetically at his boyfriend. “Sorry, what? I was finishing that chapter where Orchid finds her mother again.”

Thor chuckles and squeezes Loki’s feet lightly from they are propped up on his lap, socks a deep blue with sparks of red. 

“I was asking you if you would like to see my boat?”

Loki can’t help bursting out laughing at the suggestion. “Babe, I already told you that the boat is out of the picture. I don’t want to see it. I know you’re super rich already, you don’t have to show off with it.”

Thor lets out a sigh, lips still blooming with a smile before he slides his phone across to the other man. Loki reaches out for it and arches an eyebrow. 

“What—”

His eyes focus on the blue light of the screen, on what’s written in dark gray letters, and his breath catches in his throat.

Food from their favourite Mexican place. Orchids and sunflowers. The candied coconut and strawberries they love from the Farmer’s market.

All of this, on Thor’s boat. Booked already for the coming Saturday.

When Loki glances back at Thor, his boyfriend is grinning sheepishly. 

That fucking idiot, always so _handsome_ and _infuriating_ no matter how long they have been together.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Thor says as he keeps grinning. “I knew you’d say no otherwise.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, feigning annoyance. “So you went ahead and booked us dinner already on the boat? Wow, talk about being Rich and Confident with a capital R and C.”

“But you don’t mind?” Thor smiles again with a silent apology on his lips, retrieving his phone from Loki’s pale hands.

Amusement perks up reluctantly at the corners of his mouth, and Loki rolls his eyes, kicking Thor with the pad of his foot. “You’re terrible.”

“But you love me,” Thor pushes further.

Loki thinks of the past months, the past weeks, the way days have unfolded. He thinks of the flowers Thor keeps buying him, the little cards that come with them where neat handwriting meets grainy paper and ink spreads.

It really is that easy to love Thor, in the end.

“And that’s the most annoying part,” Loki answers with a sigh. He closes his eyes, licks his lips and shakes his head. “How sad. Can’t help loving a dumbass.”

Something about Thor’s expression softens. It always catches Loki by surprise, how smitten Thor is with him; not that he doesn’t enjoy it or doesn’t expect it, but… it feels so nice, and right, and fulfilling to read that amount of adoration on someone else’s face. That amount of love. Of gentleness.

Loki never thought Thor Odinson would be the greatest love of his life, and yet, here he is, sitting on _their_ couch, in _their_ flat with Leia trying to climb on Thor’s back to curl around his neck.

Oh, how things change.

 **_x x x_ ** 

Loki can’t help rolling his eyes when Thor and him arrive in front of the boat on Saturday evening, but he’s also surprised: he expected something a lot bigger, a lot… fancier, maybe, and Thor’s boat might be just that on the inside, but it’s otherwise pretty smile compared to the other ones Loki can see float nearby, anchored to the concrete. 

“What do you think?” Thor asks, half-excitement, half-anxiety. Loki smiles to himself at the tone of his boyfriend and at how tight he’s holding his hand.

Loki chuckles. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”

“Just because I’m well-endowed in other areas doesn’t mean that everything should be that way—”

“Thor, _no_ ,” Loki groans, giving the biggest dirty side-eye in the history of Side-Eyes.

Thor grins. “Had to do it, babe.”

“Actually, your right to remain silent can be exercised at all times,” Loki smirks back coldly as he walks up the ramp and looks around the deck once there, taking in the surroundings.

He has to admit that he loves Thor’s taste for furniture and home decor, and the boat style doesn’t disappoint on that side, even if there’s not much to see yet out on the deck: it’s mostly parquet and colour choices but Loki already appreciates it. The planks, displayed in soft, warm gray, seem to retain the smell of salt and sea. 

Thor’s shoulders glow in the moonlight when Loki turns back to glance at him—he looks like a character straight out of Van Gogh painting and he wants to laugh at his own reference, so sappy but so true.

What he isn’t ready for, though, is the inside of the boat.

The small living room is cozy and furnished with rich leather and wooden materials, giving it a comfortable but definitely wealthy atmosphere. Loki can’t help laughing it off as they pass by, nudging Thor with his elbow and teasing him with a smirk.

It doesn’t last.

Reaching the bedroom’s door handle, Loki expects more laughter and teasing regarding Thor’s money and belongings.

Instead, he freezes, and smells roses. 

It’s fruity and spicy, and Loki can’t believe what he’s seeing, tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth, eyes stuck on the stains of red all over the room.

Thor made him a bed of roses, quite literally.

He blinks, trying to stir his brain out of its surprise, though Thor hits the nail on the head just as Loki thinks the roses are enough to make him cry. His boyfriend wraps his arms around Loki’s waist from behind and rests his chin on Loki’s right shoulder. His warmth seeps through, anchoring Loki as he hears the words. 

“I love you. Most ardently.”

Suddenly, Loki heart thunders in his ears and kicks him back into motion.

He reaches out and wraps his arms around Thor, burying his face in Thor’s chest and inhaling his scent as much as he can.

 _Thor Odinson is the biggest sap in the entire world who quotes_ Pride and Prejudice _to me and he is my boyfriend. How did this happen?_

Loki heaves a broken sigh and his fingers dig tightly into Thor’s skin through his sweater. He presses a kiss to the hollow of Thor’s throat, waiting for the emotion growing there to recede a little, though it never quite does, carved between blood and muscles. 

“You’re gross, Thor Odinson,” he lets out, voice raw. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

Thor smiles. Loki’s heart is racing against Thor’s own chest, beating unapologetically. 

“Come again? Who’s gross?” Thor says. “I’m certainly not the man who draws hearts on sticky notes and leaves them next to my cup of coffee every morning before I wake up.”

Loki’s laughter is a little choked out. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Thor leans in and kisses Loki softly, his thumb smoothing over his cheek.

“I think his name starts with an L,” he murmurs against his lips. “And he’s gorgeous, and funny, and smart and he makes the worst waffles humanity has ever known.”

Loki scoffs, fisting his hands in Thor’s sweater. “Because you think you’re so much better with your burnt pancakes?”

“The fire in my heart was so strong, you see.”

Loki stares at Thor for a while before pushing him forward. “Get on the bed. I need to ride your dick right now so I can recover from how awful that was.”

Another smirk and Thor lets himself fall on the bed, back to the sheets. Loki crawls on top of him, laughing, and sits in his lap, stopping what he was about to do when his eyes catch Thor’s.

The sincerity he finds there catches him off guard. Being snarky and sarcastic is definitely their preferred way of interacting, but seeing so much love and openness on Thor’s face is enough to break Loki’s barriers, enough to realise Thor genuinely adores him and would never hurt him on purpose.

Not that Loki never noticed, before—he simply didn’t allow himself to hope in fear of crashing again.

“I love you too, Thor,” Loki says. There’s nothing else to add to that, and he takes a deep breath. “I know I don’t say it that much but I do feel it. I _do_ love you.”

Thor’s arm pulls Loki closer to him, his face only inches away from Loki’s.

“Baby, I know,” Thor smiles gently and settles his hand against Loki’s neck. “You don’t need to force yourself to say it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“But you are my new beginning,” Loki says as he grabs Thor’s wrist with a little more force than he expected. “I just want you to know that.”

Loki is still caught in that thought that Thor might slip away if he isn’t enough, and the idea hurts more than he lets on.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to Thor’s lips, almost desperate. Thor opens his mouth to him, allowing Loki in and letting him take the lead, arms still wrapped tightly around Loki’s body.

There’s joy, in there. Joy and happiness that do another lap up around his heart and every limb.

The kiss feels like a question to which Thor tries to provide an answer, and all that Loki knows is that his heart is hammering in his chest and so much has changed; so many new beginnings have happened, leaving him out of breath.

Thor’s fingers are anchors along the curve of his neck, the tips warm and soothing against Loki’s skin. He sighs, nuzzles Thor’s face and chuckles, Thor’s stubble a rough scrap on his lips. The comfort of familiarity always takes him by surprise, no matter how long it’s been.

“I can’t believe I’m on your _stupid_ boat,” he mumbles, voice scratchy. 

“I can’t believe your new beginning is dating someone who _owns_ a boat,” Thor answers with a grin, studying the purple bruise on his boyfriend’s jaw.

Loki rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, you idiot,” he groans and kisses Thor again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! Please don't hesitate to comment to tell me what you thought of this epilogue, I'm always happy to hear what you have to say!
> 
> Until next time ♥
> 
> angryzilla.tumblr.com


End file.
